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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


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THKEE   YEARS 
WITH   THE   POETS 

^  €ejct^23oofe  of  |)octrp 

TO  BE  MEMORIZED    BY  CHILDREN 

DURING  THE   FIRST  YEARS 

IN  SCHOOL 

COMPILED   BT 

BERTHA    HAZAED 


i  -J   i 


1  '   l'   J    ■■>    "        '        '  • 


HOUGHTON  MH'FLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON      •      NEW  YORK      •      CHICAGO      •      DALLAS 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


M    Ki  J"-/  >.c-\lC-\ 


COPYRIGHT  1904 
BY    HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &    CO. 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVSD 


*       1  '   .•     ,♦ 

no     *  •  •«    : 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSBTTS 
PRINTED  IN  THB  U.S.A 


I 


TO 

E.  J.  W. 

WITH     GRATEFUL    RECOGNITION 

OP    HER   UNFAILING   SYMPATHY    AND    HELP 

DURING   THESE   TEN   YEARS 

OF    PLEASANT    WORK 

TOGETHER. 


FOREWORD  TO   THE   TEACHER 

In  recognition  of  the  fact  tliat  there  are  already  in 
existence  various  excellent  collections  of  poetry  for 
children,  and  that  still  another  would  therefore  seem 
to  be  quite  unnecessary,  it  is  perhaps  fitting  that 
this  little  book  should  present  itself  with  due  apo- 
logy for  its  existence.  It  might  be  better,  however, 
to  acknowledge  frankly  that  this  present  volume 
does  not  claim  to  be  a  "  collection "  at  all,  in  the 
ordinary  sense  of  the  word.  Rather  is  it  a  text-book 
of  poetry,  limited  in  its  scope  by  the  needs  and 
interests  of  the  first  school  years,  and  aiming  only 
to  be  an  introduction  to  the  real  anthologies  for 
children,  the  larger  and  more  complete  collections. 
It  is  hoped  that  it  may  serve  as  the  first  "  study- 
book  "  which  a  little  child  should  be  asked  to  use, 
and  that  as  such  it  may  correlate  to  advantage  with 
the  reading-books,  and  with  the  oral  lessons  in 
botany  or  history  or  geography  of  the  lower  primary 
grades. 

There  is  perhaps  a  grain  of  truth  in  the  assertion 
that  the  so-called  modern  methods  of  education  for- 
get to  train  the  memory.  Certainly  every  teacher, 
conservative  or  progressive,  would  agree  that  facility 
in  memorizing  is  most  valuable,  and  that  as  one  step 


vi  FOREWORD  TO  THE  TEACHER 

towards  acquiring  this  facility,  the  youngest  children 
should  be  accustomed  to  learn  each  week  at  least  a 
few  lines  of  poetry.  But  for  most  teachers,  "memory 
gems,"  good  perhaps  in  themselves,  but  chosen  at 
random,  without  special  reference  to  the  child's 
school  life,  are  no  longer  satisfactory.  The  poetry 
to  be  learned  in  school  should  follow  the  children's 
other  interests  in  work  and  play,  thus  helping  to 
make  vivid  every  other  subject,  and  becoming  itself 
a  vital  part  of  the  day's  pleasure.  Moreover,  the 
poems  should  be  sufficiently  numerous  to  allow  free- 
dom of  choice,  and  they  should  usually  be  short 
enough  to  be  learned  by  the  greater  part  of  the 
class  in  a  single  week. 

One  word  more  as  to  the  working  plan  of  the 
book.  Children  dearly  love  a  task,  provided  only 
that  it  is  definite,  and  interesting,  and  not  beyond 
their  powers.  They  like  to  know  where  they  are  jour- 
neying in  the  land  of  books,  and  a  simple  show  of 
purpose  and  system  will  usually  appeal  to  them.  The 
Calendar  of  the  year's  work,  which  serves  instead  of 
index,  gives  a  list  of  ten  Required  Poems  which  the 
slowest  and  most  undeveloped  little  persons  can  prob- 
ably be  induced  to  learn,  month  by  month.  In  every 
class,  there  will  be  an  appreciable  number  of  chil- 
dren, however,  who  cannot  do  more  than  this,  who 
could  not  usually  learn  the  required  poem  well  in  less 
time  than  the  whole  of  the  month  to  which  it  be- 
longs, but  to  whom  the  proud  consciousness  of  duty 
performed  should  not  be  denied.   On  the  other  hand, 


FOREWORD  TO  THE  TEACHER  vil 

many  children  could  do  more  than  this,  and  some  few 
could  even  learn  a  new  poem  each  week,  thus  acquir- 
ing some  forty  poems  during  the  school  year.  The 
Elective  series  of  thirty  poems  offers  full  scope  for 
the  zealous  activities  of  these  quicker  minds,  while 
the  Supplementary  Rhymes  and  Poems  which  follow 
may  be  useful  as  substitutes  where  shorter  tasks  are 
needed,  or  where  additional  freedom  of  choice  is 
desired.  Many  children  are  interested  in  a  visible 
record  of  work  done,  and  for  these  it  may  be  of  value 
to  allow  them  to  write  in  the  Calendar  the  dates  of 
the  days  when  the  different  poems  have  been  suc- 
cessfully recited. 

It  should  be  added  that  no  poem  has  been  allowed 
its  place  in  the  series  without  having  been  first "  tried 
on,"  and  found  pleasant  and  profitable  for  the  year 
for  which  it  has  been  chosen.  With  sympathetic  and 
persistent  encouragement,  the  love  of  poetry  devel- 
ops rapidly  in  children,  and  their  ability  to  commit 
to  memory  grows  astonishingly.  Although  at  first 
glance  it  might  seem  that  forty  poems  such  as  those 
which  have  been  chosen  represent  too  great  a  task 
for  a  single  year,  yet,  as  a  matter  of  fact  and  expe- 
rience, they  have  been  found  wholly  possible,  except 
of  course  for  the  natural  omissions  which  must  be- 
fall through  absence.  The  course  as  given  for  each 
year  includes  nothing  which  children  have  not  done 
gladly  and  with  steadily  increasing  appreciation  of 
the  pleasure  to  be  found  in  books. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  the  following  authors  for 


viu  FOREWORD  TO  THE  TEACHER 

cordial  permission  to  use  the  poems  mentioned  :  to 
Mrs.  M.  A.  L.  Lane,  for  "  Hilda's  Christmas ;  "  to 
Mrs.  Emily  Huntington  Miller  for  "  The  Bluebird  " 
and  "  Little  May ;  "  to  Miss  Emilie  Poulsson  for 
"  The  First  Christmas  "  and  "  While  Stars  of  Christ- 
mas shine ;  "  to  Miss  Mary  McDowell  for  her  "  Civic 
Creed ;  "  and  to  Mrs.  Blanche  Wilder  Bellamy  for 
her  translation  of  a  poem  by  Victor  Hugo. 

I  am  also  indebted  to  D.  Appleton  and  Company 
for  permission  to  use  two  poems  of  William  Cullen 
Bryant;  to  Charles  Scribner's  Sons  for  "The  Wind," 
"  Autumn  Fires,"  "  Bed  in  Summer,"  "  In  Winter- 
Time,"  and  "  The  Sun's  Travels,"  all  taken  from 
"A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses,"  by  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson  ;  to  the  same  firm  for  "  A  Norse  Lul- 
laby "  and  "  Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod,"  from 
"  Lullaby  Land,"  by  Eugene  Field  (copyright, 
1892) ;  to  The  Century  Company  for  the  use  of  "  A 
Cradle  Song,"  by  Richard  Watson  Gilder,  and 
'^  The  Sea-Princess,"  by  Katherine  Pyle ;  to  Little, 
Brown,  and  Company  for  two  poems  by  Helen  Hunt 
Jackson  ;  also  to  the  editor  of  "  The  Journal  of 
Education  "  for  "A  Hint,"  by  Anna  M.  Pratt. 

Bebtha  Hazard. 

August,  1904. 


CALENDAR 


FIRST   YEAR 
REQUIRED  POEMS 


PAGE 


Septemher 

Autumn  Fires 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

1 

October 

The  Wind 

Christina  G.  Rossetti 

2 

November 

Praying  and  Loving 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 

3 

December 

The  First  Christinas 

Emilie  Poulsson 

4 

January 

Winter-Time 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

5 

February 

The  Snow-Bird 

Frank  Dempster  Sherman 

6 

March, 

The  Wind 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

7 

April 


Verses  from  The  Song  of  Solomon        The  Bible      8 


May 


Pippa's  Song 


June 


Ariel's  Song 


Robert  Browning       9 
William  Shakespeare     10 


CALENDAR 


ELECTIVE  POEMS 

Septemher 

Thank  You,  Pretty  Cow  Jane  Taylor    11 

An  Autumn  Riddle  Unknown    12 

Lullaby  Christina  G.  Rossetti    12 


October 

Lady  Moon 

Milking  Time 

To  Mother  Fairie 

November 

Good-Night 

An  Old  Gaelic  Cradle-Song 

Little  Things 


Lord  Houghton 

Christina  G.  Rossetti 

Alice  Cary 

Victor  Hugo 
Unknown 
Unknown 


December 

An  Old  Christmas  Carol  Unknown 

An  Old  English  Carol  Unknown 

"  While  Stars  of  Christmas  Shine  " 

Emilia  Poulsson 

January 

The  Months  Richard  B.  Sheridan 

A  Hint  Anna  M.  Pratt 

A  Chill  Christina  G.  Rossetti 


February 
America 
Winter 
King  and  Queen 

March 

Cradle  Song 
The  Caterpillar 
Sweet  and  Low 

April 

April 

The  Runaway  Brook 

Little  May 


Samuel  F.  Smith 

Philip  H.  Savage 

Unknown 


13 
14 
14 

15 
15 
16 

17 
17 

18 

19 
19 
20 

21 
22 
22 


Unknown  23 

Unknown  23 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  24 

Mrs.  J.  B.  Gustafson  25 

Eliza  Lee  Follen  25 

Emily  Huntington  Miller  26 


CALENDAR  xi 

May 

The  City  Child  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  27 

Bed  in  Summer  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  28 

Up  in  the  Morning  Early  Unknown  28 

June 

Summer  Christina  G.  Rossetti  30 

The  Sun's  Travels  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  30 

The  Shepherd  William  Blake  31 

SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS  AND  RHYMES 


The  Weather 

Unknown 

32 

What  Every  One  Knows 

Unknown 

32 

Things  to  Remember 

Unknown 

33 

Sing-Song 

Christina  G.  Rossetti 

33 

I  Love  Little  Pussy 

Jane  Taylor 

33 

Cradle  Song 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich 

34 

Sewing 

Unknown 

35 

The  Dandelion 

Unknown 

35 

The  Sea  Princess 

Katherine  Pyle 

36 

Cunning  Bee 

Unknown 

36 

Hiawatha's  Childhood 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

37 

SECOND   YEAR 

REQUIRED  POEMS 

Se'pternber 

September  Helen  Hunt  Jackson    41 

October 

Jack  Frost  Celia  Thaxter    42 

November 

Snowflakes  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow     43 

December 

As  Joseph  was  a-walkino  Unknown    44 


xii  CALENDAR 

January 

Winter  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson    45 

Fehruary 

A  Fable  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson    46 

March 

March  Celia  Thaxter    47 

April 

Spring  Celia  Thaxter    48 

May 

Song  op  the  Fairy  William  Shakespeare    49 

June 

A  Morning  Song  William  Shakespeare    60 

ELECTIVE   POEMS 

September 

Lady-Bird  Caroline  B.  Southey  51 

The  Babie  Hugh  Miller  52 

The  Tree  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson  52 

Octoher 

The  City  Mouse  and  the  Country  Mouse 

Christina  G.  Rossetti     54 
Cradle  Song  Richard  Watson  Gilder    54 

The  Challenge  of  Thor 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow     55 

November 

The  Fir-Tree  Edith  M.  Thomas  57 

The  Winter  Robin  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  58 

Thanksgiving-Day  Lydia  Maria  Child  58 

December 

Verses  from  Saint  Luke  The  Bihle  60 

A  Christmas  Carol  Dinah  Maria  Mulock  61 

Christmas-Time  Charles  Dickens  62 


CALENDAR 


ziu 


January 

A  Norse  Lullabt 
A  Farewell 
The  Lighthouse 


Eugene  Field 
Charles  Kingsley 
Sir  Walter  Scott 


February 

The  Snowdrop  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

To  A  Child  William  Wordsworth 

God  Bless  our  Native  Land 

C  T.  Brooks  and  J.  S.  D  wight 
March 

Lines  Written  in  March      William  Wordsworth 
March  Lucy  Larcom 

The  Four  Winds  Frank  Dempster  Sherman 

A'pril 

Answer  to  a  Child's  Question 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 


The  Bluebird 

Hie  away,  hie  away 


May 


Lullaby  for  Titania 

The  Fairies 

Song  of  the  Fairies 


June, 


A  Boy's  Song 
Seven  times  Onb 
Wishing 


Emily  Huntington  Miller 
Sir  Walter  Scott 

William  Shakespeare 

William  AUingham 

Unknown 

James  Hogg 

Jean  Ingelow 

William  Allingham 


63 
64 
64 

65 
65 

66 

67 
68 
68 


70 
71 
72 

73 

74 
76 

77 
78 
79 


SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS  AND  RHYMES 

To-day                                                 Thomas  Carlyle  81 

Humility                                              Robert  Herrick  82 
An  Emerald  is  as  Green  as  Grass 

Christina  G.  Rossetti  82 

The  Eagle                              Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  82 

Violets                                                   John  Moultrie  83 

To  Violets                                           Robert  Herrick  83 


xlv  CALENDAR 

The  Succession  of  the  Four  Sweet  Months 

Robert  Herrick  84 

The  Brown  Thrush  Lucy  Larcom  85 

The  Dandelions  Helen  Gray  Cone  86 

The  Lost  Doll  Charles  Kingsley  87 

Hiawatha's  Sailing 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  88 

THIRD   YEAR 

REQUIRED   POEMS 

September 

The  Arrow  and  the  Song 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow      92 
October 

October's  Bright  Blue  Weather 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson       93 

November 

The  Sandpiper  Celia  Thaxter      94 

December 

While  Shepherds  watched  their  Flocks  by 
Night  Nahum  Tate      96 

January 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  Leigh  Hunt      98 

February 

Winter  Rain  Christina  G.  Rossetti    100 

March 

March  WiUiam  CuUen  Bryant    102 

April 

Wild  Geese  Celia  Thaxter    103 

May 

The  Cloud  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley     105 

June 

Rain  in  Summer       Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow     106 


CALENDAR 


XV 


Phoebe  Gary     107 


ELECTIVE   POEMS 
September 

Don't  Give  Up 

Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     108 
Friends  L.  G.  Warner     108 

October 

Indian  Summer  John  Greenleaf  Whittier  110 

Robin  Redbreast  William  Allingham  110 

The  Village  Blacksmith 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  112 

November 

No !  Thomas  Hood  115 

November  Alice  Cary  115 

The  Twenty-^third  Psalm  The  Bible  116 


December 

Christmas  Carol 
Hilda's  Christmas 
New  Year's  Eve 


Robert  Herrick     118 

M.  A.  L.  Lane     119 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     121 


January 

The  Four  Winds 
Wabun,  the  East- Wind 
Kabibonokka,  the  North- Wind 
Shawondasee,  the  South- Wind 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow     122 

February 

Stanzas  on  Freedom  James  Russell  Lowell  125 

Civic  Creed  Mary  McDowell  126 

My  Native  Land  Sir  Walter  Scott  127 

March 

Greek  Children's  Song                           Unknown  128 

Spring  has  come                  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  128 

Daybreak                  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  129 


xvi  CALENDAR 

April 

April  and  May  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson     131 

CoNCOKD  Hymn  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson     131 

The  Children's  Hour 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow     132 

May 

The  Greenwood  Tree  William  Shakespeare     135 

The  Brook  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson     136 

Pebbles  Frank  Dempster  Sherman     138 

June 

Before  the  Rain  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  140 

The  Rainbow  —  A  Riddle  Friedrich  Schiller  141 

Bugle  Song  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson  141 


SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS   AND   RHYMES 

The  Star-Spangled  Banner     Francis  Scott  Key  143 
Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 

Felicia  D.  Hemans  145 

The  American  Flag  Joseph  Rodman  Drake  147 

Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic 

Julia  Ward  Howe  148 

Old  Ironsides  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  149 

Passage  of  the  Apennines   Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  150 

Daybreak  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  151 

A  Sea-Song  AUan  Cunningham  151 

The  Fountain  James  Russell  Lowell  152 

In  School-Days  John  Greenleaf  Whittier  154 

Ballad  of  the  Tempest  James  T.  Fields  156 

My  Jean  Robert  Burns  157 

The  Reverie  of  Poor  Susan 

William  Wordsworth  158 
Winter  and  Spring 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  150 


CALENDAR  xvii 

LONGER  POEMS  FOR   SUPPLEMENTARY 

READING 

FIRST  YEAR 

Wynken,  Bltnken,  and  Nod           Eugene  Field  164 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat             Edward  Lear  166 

A  Visit  from  St.  Nicholas        Clement  C.  Moore  167 

SECOND  YEAR 

PiccoLA                                                 Celia  Thaxter  170 

NiKOLiNA                                                Celia  Thaxter  172 

Little  Gustava                                   Celia  Thaxter  173 

Summer  Woods                                   Mary  Howitt  175 

The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low      Mary  Howitt  178 

THIRD  YEAR 
Paul  Revere's  Ride 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  182 
The  Bell  of  Atri 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  187 

A  Christmas  Carol                James  Russell  Lowell  191 

O  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem       Phillips  Brooks  192 

Robert  of  Lincoln              William  Cullen  Bryant  193 
The  Planting  of  the  Apple-Tree 

William  Cullen  Bryant  1% 
In  the  Haunts  of  Bass  and  Bream 

Maurice  Thompson  199 
True  Love  Requited  ;  or,  the  Bailiff's  Daugh- 
ter OF  Islington  Unknown  203 
Young  Lochinvar  Sir  Walter  Scott  205 
Casabianca  Felicia  D.  Hemans  207 
The  Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin 

William  Cowper  209 
The  Pied.  Piper  of  Hamelin 

Robert  Browning  220 

HELPS  FOR  THE  DAY'S   WORK  232 


THREE  YEARS   >VITH  THE  POETS 


FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 

SEPTEMBER 

AUTUMN  FIRES 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

In  the  other  gardens 

And  all  up  the  vale, 
From  the  autumn  bonfires 

See  the  smoke  trail ! 

Pleasant  summer  over 

And  all  the  summer  flowers, 

The  red  fire  blazes, 

The  grey  smoke  towers. 

Sing  a  song  of  seasons ! 

Something  bright  in  all ! 
Flowers  in  the  summer, 

Fires  in  the  fall ! 


FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


OCTOBER 

THE  WIND 

CHRISTINA   G.    ROSSETTI 

Who  has  seen  the  wind  ? 

Neither  I  nor  you  : 
But  when  the  leaves  hang  trembling 

The  wind  is  passing  through. 

Who  has  seen  the  wind  ? 

Neither  you  nor  I : 
But  when  the  trees  bow  down  their 
heads 

The  wind  is  passing  by. 


FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 
NOVEMBEB 

PRAYING  AND  LOVING 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE 

From  The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 

For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all. 


FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


DECEMBER 

THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS 

EMILIE  POULSSON 

Once  a  little  baby  lay 
Cradled  on  the  fragrant  hay, 

Long  ago  on  Christmas  ; 
Stranger  bed  a  babe  ne'er  found, 
Wond'ring  cattle  stood  around, 

Long  ago  on  Christmas. 

By  the  shining  yision  taught, 
Shepherds  for  the  Christ-child  sought. 

Long  ago  on  Christmas. 
Guided  in  a  starlit  way. 
Wise  men  came  their  gifts  to  pay. 

Long  ago  on  Christmas. 

And  to-day  the  whole  glad  earth 
Praises  God  for  that  Child's  birth. 

Long  ago  on  Christmas  ; 
For  the  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way 
Came  to  bless  the  earth  that  day. 

Long  ago  on  Christmas. 


FIRST  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS  5 

JANUARY 

WINTER-TIME 

ROBERT   LOUIS    STEVENSON 

Late  lies  the  wintry  sun  abed 

A  frosty,  fiery  sleepy-head ; 

Blinks  but  an  hour  or  two ;  and  then, 

A  blood-red  orange,  sets  again. 

Before  the  stars  have  left  the  skies, 
At  morning  in  the  dark  I  rise ; 
And  shivering  in  my  nakedness, 
By  the  cold  candle,  bathe  and  dress. 

Close  by  the  jolly  fire  I  sit 
To  warm  my  frozen  bones  a  bit ; 
Or  with  a  reindeer-sled,  explore 
The  colder  countries  round  the  door. 

When  to  go  out,  my  nurse  doth  wrap 
Me  in  my  comforter  and  cap ; 
The  cold  wind  burns  my  face,  and  blows 
Its  frosty  pepper  up  my  nose. 

Black  are  my  steps  on  silver  sod ; 
Thick  blows  my  frosty  breath  abroad  ; 
And  tree  and  house,  and  hill  and  lake. 
Are  frosted  like  a  wedding-cake. 


FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


FEBRUARY 


THE  SNOW-BIRD 

FRANK  DEMPSTER  SHERMAN 

When  all  the  ground  with  snow  is  white. 

The  merry  snow-bird  comes, 
And  hops  about  with  great  delight 
To  find  the  scattered  crumbs. 

How  glad  he  seems  to  get  to  eat 

A  piece  of  cake  or  bread  ! 
He  wears  no  shoes  upon  his  feet, 

No  hat  upon  his  head  ! 

But  happiest  is  he,  I  know. 

Because  no  cage  with  bars 
Keeps  him  from  walking  in  the  snow 

And  printing  it  with  stars. 


FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


MARCH 

THE  WIND 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

I  saw  you  toss  the  kites  on  high 
And  blow  the  birds  about  the  sky  ; 
And  all  around  I  heard  you  pass, 
Like  ladies'  skirts  across  the  grass  — 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song  ! 

I  saw  the  different  things  you  did. 
But  always  you  yourself  you  hid. 
I  felt  you  push,  I  heard  you  call, 
I  could  not  see  yourself  at  all  — 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song ! 

O  you  that  are  so  strong  and  cold, 
O  blower,  are  you  young  or  old  ? 
Are  you  a  beast  of  field  and  tree. 
Or  just  a  stronger  child  than  me  ? 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song ! 


8  FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


APRIL 

VERSES/row  THE  SONG  OF  SOLOMON 

For,  lo,  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain  is  over 

and  gone ; 
The  flowers  appear  on  the  earth ;  the  time 

of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and 

the  Yoice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in 

our  land. 


FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


MAY 


PIPPA'S   SONG 

From  Pippa  Passes 
ROBERT   BROWNING 

The  year  *s  at  the  spring 
And  day  *s  at  the  morn ; 
Morning 's  at  seven ; 
The  hillside  *s  dew-pearled  ; 
The  lark  *s  on  the  wing ; 
The  snail 's  on  the  thorn  ; 
God 's  in  his  heaven  — 
All 's  right  with  the  world ! 


10  FIRST  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


JUNE 


ARIEL'S  SONG 

From  The  Tempest 
WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I : 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie ; 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry : 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly, 

After  summer  merrily. 

Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 
Under  the  blossom   that   hangs  on   the 
bough ! 


FIRST   YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 


SEPTEMBER 


THANK  YOU,  PRETTY  COW 

JANE   TAYLOR 

Thank  you,  pretty  cow,  that  made 
Pleasant  milk  to  soak  my  bread. 
Every  day  and  every  night. 
Warm,  and  fresh,  and  sweet,  and  white. 

Do  not  chew  the  hemlock  rank, 
Growing  on  the  weedy  bank  ; 
But  the  yellow  cowslip  eat. 
That  will  make  it  very  sweet. 

Where  the  purple  violet  grows. 
Where  the  bubbling  water  flows, 
Where  the  grass  is  fresh  and  fine. 
Pretty  cow,  go  there  and  dine. 


12  FIRST   YEAR  —  ELECTIVE   POEMS 


AN  AUTUMN  RIDDLE 

I  know  a  little  creature 

In  a  green  bed, 
With  the  softest  wrappings 

All  around  her  head. 
When  she  grows  old 

She  is  hard  and  cannot  feel. 
So  they  take  her  to  the  mill, 

And  grind  her  into  meal. 


LULLABY 

CHRISTINA  G.  ROSSETTI 

Lullaby,  oh,  lullaby ! 
Flowers  are  closed  and  lambs  are  sleeping; 

Lullaby,  oh,  lullaby ! 
Stars  are  up,  the  moon  is  peeping  ; 

Lullaby,  oh,  lullaby ! 
While  the  birds  are  silence  keeping, 

Lullaby,  oh,  lullaby  I 
Sleep,  my  baby,  fall  a-sleeping. 

Lullaby,  oh,  lullaby ! 


FIRST   YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  13 


OCTOBER 

LADY  MOON 

LORD  HOUGHTON 

Lady  Moon,    Lady  Moon,  where  are   you 
roving  ? 

Over  the  sea. 
Lady   Moon,  Lady  Moon,  whom   are   you 
loving  ? 

All  that  love  me. 

Are  you  not  tired  with  rolling,  and  never 

Resting  to  sleep  ? 
Why  look  so  pale  and  so  sad,  as  forever 

Wishing  to  weep  ? 

Ask  me  not  this,  little  child,  if  you  love  me ; 

You  are  too  bold  ; 
I  must  obey  my  dear  Father  above  me, 

And  do  as  I  'm  told. 

Lady   Moon,    Lady   Moon,  where  are  you 
roving  ? 

Over  the  sea. 
Lady  Moon,  Lady   Moon,   whom   are   you 
loving  ? 

All  that  love  me. 


14  FIRST  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

MILKING  TIME 

CHRISTINA  G.  ROSSETTI 

When   the  cows  come   home  the  milk   is 

coming ; 
Honey  's  made  while  the  hees  are  humming ; 
Duck  and  drake  on  the  rushy  lake, 
And  the  deer  live  safe  in  the  breezy  brake ; 
And  timid,  funny,  pert  little  bunny, 
Winks  his  nose,  and  sits  all  sunny. 

TO  MOTHER  FAIRIE 

ALICE   CARY 

Good  old  Mother  Fairie, 

Sitting  by  your  fire. 
Have  you  any  little  folk 

You  would  like  to  hire  ? 

I  want  no  chubby  drudges 
To  milk,  and  churn,  and  spin, 

Nor  old  and  wrinkled  Brownies, 
With  grisly  beards,  and  thin ; 

But  patient  little  people. 

With  hands  of  busy  care. 
And  gentle  speech,  and  loving  hearts* 

Now,  have  you  such  to  spare  ? 


FIRST  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  15 


NOVEMBER 

GOOD-NIGHT 

VICTOR  HUGO 

Good-night !   Good-night ! 
Far  flies  the  light ; 
But  still  God's  love 
Shall  flame  above, 
Making  all  bright. 
Good-night !   Good-night ! 

AN  OLD  GAELIC  CRADLE-SONG 

Hush !  the  waves  are  rolling  in, 

White  with  foam,  white  with  foam ; 

Father  toils  among  the  din. 
But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 

Hush !  the  waves  roar  hoarse  and  deep ! 

On  they  come,  on  they  come  ! 
Brother  seeks  the  wandering  sheep. 

But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 

Hush !  the  rain  sweeps  o'er  the  knowes, 
Where  they  roam,  where  they  roam ; 

Sister  goes  to  seek  the  cows. 
But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 


UJ  FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 


LITTLE  THINGS 

Little  drops  of  water, 
Little  grains  of  sand, 

Make  the  mighty  ocean 
And  the  pleasant  land. 

Little  deeds  of  kindness, 
Little  words  of  love. 

Make  this  earth  an  Eden, 
Like  the  Heaven  above. 


FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  17 


DECEMBER 

AN  OLD  CHRISTMAS  CAROL 

God  bless  the  master  of  this  house. 

The  mistress  also, 
And  all  the  little  children, 

That  round  the  table  go. 
And  all  your  kin  and  kinsmen 

That  dwell  both  far  and  near ; 
I  wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas, 

And  a  Happy  New  Year. 


AN  OLD  ENGLISH  CAROL 

Sing  high,  sing  low, 

Sing  to  and  fro, 
Go  tell  it  out  with  speed. 

Cry  out  and  shout, 

All  round  about, 
That  Christ  is  born  indeed ! 


18  FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

"WHILE  STARS  OF  CHRISTMAS 

SHINE  " 

EMILIE  POULSSON 

"While  stars  of  Christmas  shine. 

Lighting  the  skies, 
Let  only  loving  looks 

Beam  from  our  eyes. 

While  hells  of  Christmas  ring. 

Joyous  and  clear, 
Speak  only  happy  words, 

All  love  and  cheer. 

Give  only  loving  gifts. 

And  in  love  take ; 
Gladden  the  poor  and  sad 

For  love's  dear  sake. 


FIRST  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS/  19 


JANUARY 

THE  MONTHS 

RICHARD  B.  SHERIDAN 

January  snowy,  February  flowy,  March 
blowy ; 

April  showery,  May  flowery,  June  bowery ; 

July  moppy,  August  croppy,  September 
poppy ; 

October  breezy,  November  wheezy,  Decem- 
ber freezy. 

A  HINT 

ANNA  M.  PRATT 

If  you  should  frown,  and  I  should  frown, 

While  walking  out  together. 
The  happy  folk  about  the  town 
Would  say,  "  The  clouds  are  settling  down, 
In  spite  of  pleasant  weather.'* 

If  you  should  smile,  and  I  should  smile. 
While  walking  out  together, 

Sad  folk  would  say,  *'  Such  looks  beguile 

The  weariness  of  many  a  mile, 
In  dark  and  dreary  weather." 


20  FIRST  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

A    CHILL 

CHRISTINA  G.  ROSSETTI 

What  can  lambkins  do 

All  the  keen  night  through  ? 

Nestle  by  their  woolly  mother. 
The  careful  ewe. 

What  can  nestlings  do 

In  the  nightly  dew  ? 
Sleep  beneath  their  mother's  wing 

Till  day  breaks  anew. 

If  in  field  or  tree 

There  might  only  be 
Such  a  warm,  soft  sleeping-place 

Found  for  me  I 


FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  21 


FEBRUARY 


AMERICA 

SAMUEL  F.  SMITH 

My  country,  *t  is  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  Liberty, 

Of  thee  I  sing ; 
Land  where  my  fathers  died. 
Land  of  the  pilgrims*  pride, 
From  every  mountain-side 

Let  Freedom  ring. 

My  native  country,  thee. 
Land  of  the  noble  free,  — 

Thy  name  I  love ; 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills. 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills ; 
My  heart  with  rapture  thrills 

Like  that  above. 

Let  music  swell  the  breeze, 
And  ring  from  all  the  trees 

Sweet  Freedom's  song ; 
Let  mortal  tongues  awake  ; 
Let  all  that  breathe  partake ; 
Let  rocks  their  silence  break,  - 

The  sound  prolong. 


22  FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

Our  fathers'  God,  to  Thee, 
Author  of  Liberty, 

To  Thee  we  sing  : 
Long  may  our  land  be  bright 
With  Freedom's  holy  light ; 
Protect  us  by  Thy  might, 

Great  God,  our  King. 


WINTER 

PHILIP  H.    SAVAGE 

When  February  sun  shines  cold, 
There  comes  a  day  when  in  the  air 

The  wings  of  winter  slow  unfold 

And  show  the  golden  summer  there. 

KING  AND  QUEEN 

(A  VALENTINE) 

Lilies  are  Avhite, 
Rosemary's  green ; 

When  you  are  king, 
I  will  be  queen. 

Roses  are  red, 

Lavender's  blue  ; 
If  you  will  have  me, 

I  will  have  you. 


FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  23 


MARCH 

CRADLE  SONG 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep, 
Our  cottage  vale  is  deep ; 
The  little  lamb  is  on  the  green. 
With  woolly  fleece  so  soft  and  clean- 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep, 
Down  where  the  woodbines  creep ; 
Be  always  like  the  lamb  so  mild, 
A  kind,  and  sweet,  and  gentle  child - 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 


THE  CATERPILLAR 

I  creep  upon  the  ground,  and  the  children 

say. 
You  ugly  old  thing  !  '*  and  push  me  away. 


{( 


I  lie  in  my  bed,  and  the  children  say, 

*'  The  fellow  is  dead  ;  we'll  throw  him  away. 

At  last  I  awake,  and  the  children  try 
To  make  me  stay,  as  I  rise  and  fly. 


24  FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

SWEET  AND  LOW 

ALFRED,  LORD  TENNYSON 

Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 

Wind  of  the  western  sea, 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 
Wind  of  the  western  sea  ! 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 
Blow  him  again  to  me ; 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one, 

sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon ; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon ; 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest, 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 
Under  the  silver  moon  ; 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one, 

sleep. 


FIRST  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  25 

APRIL 

My  name  is  April,  sir,  and  I 

Often  laugh,  as  often  cry ; 

And  I  cannot  tell  what  makes  me, 

Only,  as  the  fit  o'ertakes  me, 

I  must  dimple,  smile,  and  frown, 

Laughing,  though  the  tears  roll  down. 

But  't  is  nature,  sir,  not  art. 

And  I  *m  happy  at  my  heart. 

THE  RUNAWAY  BROOK 

ELIZA  LEE  POLLEN 

"  Stop,  stop,  pretty  water !  ** 

Said  Mary  one  day, 
To  a  frolicsome  brook, 

That  was  running  away. 
"  You  run  on  so  fast ! 

I  wish  you  would  stay  ; 
My  boat  and  my  flowers 

You  will  carry  away. 
But  I  will  run  after, 

Mother  says  that  I  may. 
For  I  would  know  where 

You  are  running  away.** 
So  Mary  ran  after, 

But  I  have  heard  say 
That  she  neyer  could  tell 

Where  the  brook  ran  away. 


26  FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

LITTLE  MAY 

EMILY  HUNTINGTON  MILLER 

Have  you  heard  the  waters  singing, 

Little  May, 
Where  the  willows  green  are  hending 

O'er  their  way  ? 
Do  you  know  how  low  and  sweet, 
O'er  the  pebbles  at  their  feet, 
Are  the  words  the  waves  repeat. 

Night  and  day  ? 

Have  you  heard  the  robins  singing, 

Little  one, 
When  the  rosy  dawn  is  breaking,  — • 

When  't  is  done  ? 
Have  you  heard  the  wooing  breeze, 
In  the  blossomed  orchard  trees, 
And  the  drowsy  hum  of  bees 

In  the  sun  ? 

All  the  earth  is  full  of  music, 

Little  May, — 
Bird,  and  bee,  and  water  singing 

On  its  way. 
Let  their  silver  voices  fall 
On  thy  heart  with  happy  call : 
**  Praise  the  Lord,  who  loveth  all," 

Night  and  day, 

little  May. 


FIRST  YEAR— .ELECTIVE  POEMS  27 


MAY 


THE  CITY  CHILD 

ALFRED,    LORD   TENNYSON 

Dainty  little  maiden,  whither  would  you 
wander  ? 

Whither  from  this  pretty  home,  the  home 
where  mother  dwells? 

"  Far  and  far  away,"  said  the  dainty  little 
maiden, 

"All  among  the  gardens,  auriculas,  anem- 
ones, 

Roses  and  lilies  and  Canterbury  bells." 

Dainty  little  maiden,  whither  would  you 
wander  ? 

Whither  from  this  pretty  house,  this  city 
house  of  ours  ? 

**  Far  and  far  away,**  said  the  dainty  little 
maiden, 

"All  among  the  meadows,  the  clover  and 
the  clematis, 

Daisies  and  king-cups  and  honeysuckle  flow- 
ers.** 


28  FIRST  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS 

BED  IN  SUMMER 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

In  winter  I  get  up  at  night 
And  dress  by  yellow  candle-light. 
In  summer,  quite  the  other  way, 
I  have  to  go  to  bed  by  day. 

I  have  to  go  to  bed  and  see 
The  birds  still  hopping  on  the  tree. 
Or  hear  the  grown-up  people's  feet 
Still  going  past  me  in  the  street. 

And  does  it  not  seem  hard  to  you, 
When  all  the  sky  is  clear  and  blue. 
And  I  should  like  so  much  to  play. 
To  have  to  go  to  bed  by  day  ? 

UP  IN  THE  MORNING  EARLY 

Pretty  flowers,  tell  me  why 
All  your  leaves  do  open  wide, 

Every  morning,  when  on  high 
The  noble  sun  begins  to  ride  ? 

This  is  why,  my  children  dear, 
If  you  would  the  reason  know ; 


FIRST  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  29 

For  betimes  the  pleasant  air 

Very  cheerfully  does  blow : 
And  the  birds  on  every  tree 

Sing  a  very  merry  tune, 
And  the  little  honey-bee 

Comes  to  suck  her  sugar  soon : 
This  is  all  the  reason  why 

I  my  little  leaves  undo ; 
Children,  children,  wake  and  try 

If  I  have  not  told  you  true. 


30  FIRST  YEAR—  ELECTIVE  POEMS 


JUNE 

SUMMER 

CHRISTINA  G.  ROSSETTI 

Winter  is  cold-hearted, 
Spring  is  yea  and  nay. 

Autumn  is  a  weathercock 
Blown  every  way : 

Summer  days  for  me 

When  every  leaf  is  on  its  tree. 

THE   SUN'S  TRAVELS 

ROBERT   LOUIS   STEVENSON 

The  sun  is  not  ahed  when  I 

At  night  upon  my  pillow  lie ; 

Still  round  the  earth  his  way  he  takes, 

And  morning  after  morning  makes. 

While  here  at  home,  in  shining  day, 
We  round  the  sunny  garden  play, 
Each  little  Indian  sleepy-head 
Is  being  kissed  and  put  to  bed. 


FIRST  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  31 

And  when  at  eve  I  rise  from  tea, 
Day  dawns  beyond  the  Atlantic  Sea, 
And  all  the  children  in  the  West 
Are  getting  up  and  being  dressed. 

THE   SHEPHERD 

WILLIAM   BLAKE 

How  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  sweet  lot ! 
From  the  morn  to  the  evening  he  strays ; 
He  shall  follow  his  sheep  all  the  day, 
And  his  tongue  shall  be  filled  with  praise. 

For  he  hears  the  lambs'  innocent  call, 
And  he  hears  the  ewes'  tender  reply ; 
He  is  watchful  while  they  are  in  peace, 
For  they  know  when  their  shepherd  is  nigh 


FIRST  YEAR— SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS 
AND   RHYMES 


THE  WEATHER 

If  the   evening  *s    red,    and   the   morning 

gray, 
It  is  the  sign  of  a  bonnie  day ; 
If  the  evening  's  gray  and  the  morning  *s 

red. 
The   lamb  and   the    ewe   will   go   wet   to 

bed. 


WHAT   EYERY  ONE   KNOWS 

Cocks  crow  in  the  morn 

To  tell  us  to  rise. 
And  he  who  lies  late 

Will  never  be  wise  ; 
For  early  to  bed 

And  early  to  rise 
Is  the  way  to  be  healthy. 

And  wealthy,  and  wise. 


FIRST  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS     33 


THINGS   TO   REMEMBER 


Seldom  *'  can't," 
Seldom  "  don't ;  " 

Never  "  shan't," 
Never  "  won't." 


SING  -  SONG 

CHRISTINA   G.    ROSSETTI 

Rushes  in  a  watery  place, 

And  reeds  in  a  hollow ; 
A  soaring  skylark  in  the  sky, 

There  a  darting  swallow  ; 
Where  pale  blossoms  used  to  hang 

Ripe  fruit  to  follow. 

I   LOVE   LITTLE   PUSSY 

JANE   TAYLOR 

I  love  little  Pussy, 
Her  coat  is  so  warm  ; 
And  if  I  don't  hurt  her, 
She  '11  do  me  no  harm. 


34      FIRST  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

So  I  *11  not  pull  her  tail, 

Nor  drive  her  away, 
But  Pussv  and  I 

Yery  gently  will  play. 

She  shall  sit  by  my  side, 

And  I  '11  give  her  some  food; 

And  she  '11  love  me,  because 
I  am  gentle  and  good. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

I  never  will  vex  her. 

Nor  make  her  displeased, 

For  Puss  does  n't  like 
To  be  worried  or  teased. 

CRADLE   SONG 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

Ere  the  moon  begins  to  rise 

Or  a  star  to  shine. 
All  the  bluebells  close  their  eyes  — 

So  close  thine. 

Thine,  dear,  thine ! 

Birds  are  sleeping  in  the  nest 
On  the  swaying  bough. 

Thus,  against  the  mother's  breast - 
So  sleep  thou  — 
Sleep,  sleep,  thou ! 


FIRST  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS     35 

SEWING 

If  Mother  Nature  patches 

The  leaves  of  trees  and  vines, 
I  *ni  sure  she  does  her  darning 

With  the  needles  of  the  pine ; 
They  are  so  long  and  slender, 

And  somewhere  in  full  view, 
She  has  her  threads  of  cobweb, 

And  a  thimbleful  of  dew. 


THE   DANDELION 

0  dandelion,  yellow  as  gold. 
What  do  you  do  all  day  ? 

1  just  wait  here  in  the  tall  green  grass 
Till  the  children  come  to  play. 

0  dandelion,  yellow  as  gold, 
What  do  you  do  all  night  ? 

1  wait  and  wait  till  the  cool  dews  fall 
And  my  hair  grows  long  and  white. 

And  what   do  you    do  when  your  hair   is 
white, 

And  the  children  come  to  play  ? 
They  take  me  up  in  their  dimpled  hands, 

And  blow  my  hair  away. 


36     FIRST   YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS 

THE   SEA   PRINCESS 

KATHERINE    PYLE 

In  a  garden  of  shining  sea-weed, 
Set  round  with  twisted  shells, 

Under  the  deeps  of  the  ocean, 
The  little  sea  princess  dwells. 

Sometimes  she  sees  the  shadow 
Of  a  great  whale  passing  hy, 

Or  a  white-winged  vessel  sailing 
Between  the  sea  and  sky. 

Without  the  palace,  her  sea-horse 
Feeds  in  his  crystal  stall, 

And  fishes,  with  scales  that  glisten> 
Come  leaping  forth  at  her  call. 

And  when  the  day  has  faded 
From  over  the  lonesome  deep. 

In  a  shell  as  smooth  as  satin 
The  princess  is  rocked  to  sleep. 

CUNNING  BEE 

Said  a  little  wandering  maiden 
To  a  bee  with  honey  laden, 
*•  Bee,  at  all  the  flowers  you  work, 
Yet  in  some  does  poison  lurk." 


FIRST  TEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS      37 

•*  That  I  know,  my  little  maiden," 
Said  the  bee  with  honey  laden ; 

«*  But  the  poison  I  forsake, 
And  the  honey  only  take.'* 

«*  Cunning  bee,  with  honey  laden, 
That  is  right,"  replied  the  maiden ; 

«*  So  will  I,  from  all  I  meet. 
Only  draw  the  good  and  sweet.'* 


HIAWATHA'S   CHILDHOOD 

From  The  Song  of  Hiawatha 
HENRY    WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

By  the  shores  of  Gitche  Gumee, 
By  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water, 
Stood  the  wigwam  of  Nokomis 
Daughter  of  the  Moon,  Nokomis. 
Dark  behind  it  rose  the  forest. 
Rose  the  black  and  gloomy  pine-trees. 
Rose  the  firs  with  cones  upon  them ; 
Bright  before  it  beat  the  water, 
Beat  the  clear  and  sunny  water, 
Beat  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water. 

There  the  wrinkled  old  Nokomis 
Nursed  the  little  Hiawatha, 
Rocked  him  in  his  linden  cradle. 
Bedded  soft  in  moss  and  rushes, 

149028 


38     FIRST   YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

Safely  bound  with  reindeer  sinews ; 

Stilled  his  fretful  wail  by  saying, 

"Hush  !  the  Naked  Bear  will  hear  thee  ! " 

Lulled  him  into  slumber,  singing, 

"  Ewa-yea  !  my  little  owlet ! 

Who  is  this,  that  lights  the  wigwam  ? 

With  his  great  eyes  lights  the  wigwam  ? 

Ewa-yea  !  my  little  owlet.'* 

Many  things  Nokomis  taught  him 
Of  the  stars  that  shine  in  heaven ; 
Showed  him  Ishkoodah,  the  comet ; 
Ishkoodah,  with  fiery  tresses  ; 
Showed  the  Death-Dance  of  the  spirits. 
Warriors  with  their  plumes  and  war-clubs. 
Flaring  far  away  to  northward 
In  the  frosty  nights  of  Winter ; 
Showed  the  broad  white  road  in  heaven, 
Pathway  of  the  ghosts,  the  shadows, 
Running  straight  across  the  heavens. 
Crowded  with  the  ghosts,  the  shadows. 

At  the  door,  on  summer  evenings, 
Sat  the  little  Hiawatha ; 
Heard  the  whispering  of  the  pine-trees, 
Heard  the  lapping  of  the  water. 
Sounds  of  music,  words  of  wonder ; 
*'  Minne-wawa  ! "  said  the  pine-trees, 
"  Mudway-aushka  !  "  said  the  water. 

Saw  the  fire-fly,  Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting  through  the  dusk  of  evening. 
With  the  twinkle  of  its  candle 


FIRST  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS      39 

Lighting  up  the  brakes  and  bushes, 
And  he  sang  the  song  of  children, 
Sang  the  song  Nokomis  taught  him : 
"  Wah-wah-taysee,  little  fire-fly, 
Little,  flitting,  white-fire  insect, 
Little,  dancing,  white-fire  creature, 
Light  me  with  your  little  candle. 
Ere  upon  my  bed  I  lay  me, 
Ere  in  sleep  I  close  my  eyelids !  " 

Saw  the  moon  rise  from  the  water 
Hippling,  rounding  from  the  water. 
Saw  the  flecks  and  shadows  on  it, 
Whispered,  '*  What  is  that,  Nokomis  ?  *' 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered  : 
'•  Once  a  warrior,  very  angry. 
Seized  his  grandmother,  and  threw  her 
Up  into  the  sky  at  midnight ; 
llight  against  the  moon  he  threw  her ; 
*T  is  her  body  that  you  see  there." 

Saw  the  rainbow  in  the  heaven. 
In  the  eastern  sky,  the  rainbow, 
Whispered,  "  What  is  that,  Nokomis  ?  " 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered : 
**  'T  is  the  heaven  of  flowers  you  see  there  ; 
All  the  wild-flowers  of  the  forest. 
All  the  lilies  of  the  prairie. 
When  on  earth  they  fade  and  perish. 
Blossom  in  that  heaven  above  us.'* 

When  he  heard  the  owls  at  midnight. 
Hooting,  laughing  in  the  forest. 


40     FIRST  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

**  What  is  that  ?  "  he  cried  in  terror  ; 
"  What  is  that,"  he  said,  *'  Nokomis  ?  " 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered : 
**  That  is  but  the  owl  and  owlet, 
Talking  in  their  native  language. 
Talking,  scolding  at  each  other." 

Then  the  little  HiaAvatha 
Learned  of  every  bird  its  language. 
Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets, 
How  they  built  their  nests  in  summer, 
Where  they  hid  themselves  in  winter, 
Talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them, 
Called  them  "  Hiawatha's  Chickens." 

Of  all  beasts  he  learned  the  language. 
Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets, 
How  the  beavers  built  their  lodges, 
Where  the  squirrels  hid  their  acorns, 
How  the  reindeer  ran  so  swiftly. 
Why  the  rabbit  was  so  timid, 
Talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them, 
Called  them  "  Hiawatha's  Brothers.'* 


SECOND   YEAR  —  REQUIEED  POEMS 

SEPTEMBER 

SEPTEMBER 

HELEN   HUNT   JACKSON 

The  golden-rocl  is  yellow, 
The  corn  is  turning  brown  ; 

The  trees  in  apple  orchards 
With  fruit  are  bending  down. 

The  gentian's  bluest  fringes 

Are  curling  in  the  sun ; 
In  dusty  pods  the  milkweed 

Its  hidden  silk  has  spun. 

The  sedges  flaunt  their  harvest. 
In  every  meadow-nook ; 

And  asters  by  the  brookside 
Make  asters  in  the  brook. 

•  •  •  •  • 

By  all  these  lovely  tokens 
September  days  are  here, 

With  summer's  best  of  wealth 
And  autumn's  best  of  cheer. 


42  SECOND  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS 


OCTOBER 

JACK  FROST 

CELIA   THAXTER 

Rustily   creak   the   crickets :    Jack    Frost 

came  down  last  night, 
He  slid  to  the  earth  on  a  star-heam,  keen 

and  sparkling  and  bright ; 
He  sought  in  the  grass  for  crickets  with 

delicate  icy  spear, 
So  sharp  and  fine  and  fatal,  and  he  stabbed 

them  far  and  near. 


SECOND   YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS  43 

NOVEMBER 

SNOWFLAKES 

HENRY    WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

Out  of  the  bosom  of  the  Air, 

Out  of  the  cloud-folds  of  her  garments 
shaken, 
Over  the  woodlands  brown  and  bare, 
Over  the  harvest-fields  forsaken, 
Silent,  and  soft,  and  slow 
Descends  the  snow. 


44  SECOND  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 

DECEMBER 

AS   JOSEPH   WAS   A- WALKING 

AN    OLD    ENGLISH    CAROL 

As  Joseph  was  a-walking, 

He  heard  an  angel  sing, 
"  This  night  shall  be  the  birth-night 

Of  Christ  our  heavenly  King. 
His  birth-bed  shall  be  neither 

In  housen  nor  in  hall, 
Nor  in  the  place  of  paradise. 

But  in  the  oxen's  stall. 
He  neither  shall  be  rocked 

In  silver  nor  in  gold. 
But  in  the  wooden  manger 

That  lieth  in  the  mould. 
He  neither  shall  be  clothed 

In  purple  nor  in  pall. 
But  in  the  fair,  white  linen 

That  usen  babies  all." 

As  Joseph  was  a-walking. 

Thus  did  the  angel  sing. 
And  Mary's  son  at  midnight 

Was  born  to  be  our  King. 
Then  be  you  glad,  good  people. 

At  this  time  of  the  year ; 
And  light  you  up  your  candles, 

For  his  star  it  shineth  clear. 


SECOND  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS  43 


JANUARY 

WINTER 

ALFRED,    LORD   TENNYSON 

The  frost  is  here, 

And  fuel  is  dear. 

And  woods  are  sear, 

And  fires  burn  clear, 

And  frost  is  here 

And  has  bitten  the  heel  of  the  going  year. 

Bite,  frost,  bite  ! 
You  roll  up  away  from  the  light 
The  blue  woodlouse  and   the  plump  dor- 
mouse. 
And  the  bees  are  still*d,  and  the  flies  are  kill'd, 
And  you  bite  far  into  the  heart  of  the  house, 
But  not  into  mine. 

Bite,  frost,  bite ! 

The  woods  are  all  the  searer, 

The  fuel  is  all  the  dearer. 

The  fires  are  all  the  clearer. 

My  spring  is  all  the  nearer. 

You  have  bitten  into  the  heart  of  the  earth, 

But  not  into  mine. 


46  SECOND  YEAR  —  REQUIRED   POEMS 


FEBRUARY 


A   FABLE 

RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON 

The  mountain  and  the  squirrel 

Had  a  quarrel, 

Andtheformer  called  the  latter  "  Little  Prig.** 

Bun  replied, 

**  You  are  doubtless  very  big ; 

But  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 

Must  be  taken  in  together. 

To  make  up  a  year 

And  a  sphere. 

And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 

To  occupy  my  place. 

If  I  *m  not  so  large  as  you, 

You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 

And  not  half  so  spry. 

I  '11  not  deny  you  make 

A  very  pretty  squirrel  track ; 

Talents  differ ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put ; 

If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 

Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut." 


SECOND  TEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS  47 


MARCH 

MARCH 

CELIA   THAXTER 

I  wonder  what  spendthrift  chose  to  spill 
Such  bright  gold  under  my  window-sill ! 
Is  it  fairy  gold  ?    Does  it  glitter  still  ? 
Bless  me  !  it  is  but  a  daffodil ! 

And  look  at  the  crocuses,  keeping  tryst 
With  the  daffodil  by  the  sunshine  kissed  ! 
Like  beautiful  bubbles  of  amethyst 
They  seem,  blown  out  of  the  earth's  snow- 
mist. 

0  March  that  blusters  and  March  that  blows, 
What  color  under  your  footsteps  glows ! 
Beauty  you  summon  from  winter  snows, 
And  you  are  the  pathway  that  leads  to  the 
rose. 


48  SECOND  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS 

APRIL 

SPRING 

CELIA   THAXTER 

The  alder  by  the  river 

Shakes  out  her  powdery  curls ; 
The  willow  buds  in  silver 

For  little  boys  and  girls. 
The  little  birds  fly  over, 

And  oh,  how  sweet  they  sing ! 
To  tell  the  happy  children 

That  once  again  *t  is  spring. 

The  gay  green  grass  comes  creeping 

So  soft  beneath  their  feet 
The  frogs  begin  to  ripple 

A  music  clear  and  sweet. 
And  buttercups  are  coming. 

And  scarlet  columbine. 
And  in  the  sunny  meadows 

The  dandelions  shine. 

And  just  as  many  daisies 

As  their  soft  hands  can  hold, 
The  little  ones  may  gather. 

All  fair  in  white  and  gold. 
Here  blows  the  warm  red  clover. 

There  peeps  the  violet  blue ; 
O  happy  little  children ! 

God  made  them  all  for  you. 


SECOND  YEAR— REQUIRED  POEMS  49 


MAY 


SONG  OF   THE   FAIRY 

From  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream 
WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

Over  hill,  over  dale, 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier. 
Over  park,  over  pale. 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  everywhere, 
Swifter  than  the  moon's  sphere ; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen, 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green  ; 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be ; 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see ; 
These  be  rubies,  fairy  favours  — 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savours : 
I  must  go  seek  some  dewdrops  here, 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 


60  SECOND  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS 


JUNE 

A  MORNING  SONG 

From  Cymheline 
WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

Hark !   hark !   the   lark   at  heaven's  gate 
sings, 

And  Phoebus  *gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes : 
With  everything  that  pretty  is. 

My  lady  sweet,  arise  : 
Arise,  arise ! 


SECOND  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

SEPTEMBER 

LADY-BIRD 

CAROLINE   B.    SOUTHEY 

Lady -bird,  lady-bird  !  fly  away  borne  ! 

The  field-mouse  has  gone  to  her  nest, 
The  daisies  have  shut  up  their  sleepy  red 
eyes. 

And  the  bees  and  the  birds  are  at  rest. 

Lady-bird,  lady-bird  !  fly  away  home ! 

The  glow-worm  is  lighting  her  lamp, 
The  dew 's  falling  fast,  and  your  fine  spec- 
kled wings 

Will  flag  with  the  close -clinging  damp. 

Lady-bird,  lady -bird  I  fly  away  home ! 

The  fairy  bells  tinkle  afar  ! 
Make  haste,  or  they  '11  catch  you,  and  har- 
ness you  fast 

With  a  cobweb,  to  Oberon's  car. 


52  SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

THE   BABIE 

HUGH    MILLER 

Nae  shoon  to  hide  her  tiny  taes, 

Nae  stockings  on  her  feet ; 
Her  supple  ankles  white  as  snow, 

Or  early  blossoms  sweet. 

Her  simple  dress  of  sprinkled  pink. 

Her  double,  dimpled  chin ; 
Her  pucker'd  lip  and  bonny  mou', 

With  nae  ane  tooth  between. 

Her  een  sae  like  her  mither*s  een, 

Twa  gentle,  liquid  things ; 
Her  face  is  like  an  angel's  face  — 

We  *re  glad  she  has  nae  wings. 

THE   TREE 

BJORN«TJERNE    BJORNSON 

The  Tree's  early  leaf  buds  were  bursting 

their  brown ; 
**  Shall  I  take  them  away  ?  **  said  the  Frost, 

sweeping  down. 


SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS    63 

**  No,  leave  them  alone 
Till  the  blossoms  have  grown," 
Prayed  the  Tree,  while  he  trembled  from 
rootlet  to  crown. 

The  Tree  bore  his  blossoms,  and  all  the  birds 

sung  : 
"  Shall  I  take  them  away  ?  "  said  the  Wind, 
as  he  swung. 

"  No,  leave  them  alone 
Till  the  blossoms  have  grown," 
Said  the  Tree,  while  his  leaflets  quivering 
hung. 

The  Tree  bore  his  fruit  in  the  midsummer 

glow  : 
Said  the  child,  "  May  I  gather  thy  berries 
now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  all  thou  canst  see  : 
Take  them  ;  all  are  for  thee," 
Said  the  Tree,  while  he  bent  down  his  laden 
boughs  low. 


64  SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 


OCTOBER 

THE  CITY  MOUSE  AND  THE 
COUNTRY  MOUSE 

CHRISTINA   G.   ROSSETTI 

The  city  mouse  lives  in  a  house ;  — 
The  garden  mouse  lives  in  a  bower, 

He  's  friendly  with  the  frogs  and  toads, 
And  sees  the  pretty  plants  in  flower. 

The  city  mouse  eats  bread  and  cheese  ;  — 
The  garden  mouse  eats  what  he  can ; 

"We  will  not  grudge  him  seeds  and  stocks, 
Poor  little  timid  furry  man. 

CRADLE   SONG 

RICHARD   WATSON   GILDER 

In  the  embers  shining  bright 
A  garden  grows  for  thy  delight, 
With  roses  yellow,  red,  and  white. 

But,  O  my  child,  beware,  beware ! 
Touch  not  the  roses  growing  there, 
For  every  rose  a  thorn  doth  bear ! 


SECOND  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  55 


THE   CHALLENGE   OF   THOR 

HENRY   WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW 

I  am  the  God  Thor, 
I  am  the  War  God, 
I  am  the  Thunderer  ! 
Here  in  my  Northland, 
My  fastness  and  fortress, 
Reign  I  forever ! 

Here  amid  icebergs 
Rule  I  the  nations ; 
This  is  my  hammer, 
Miolner  the  mighty ; 
Giants  and  sorcerers 
Cannot  withstand  it ! 

These  are  the  gauntlets 
Wherewith  I  wield  it. 
And  hurl  it  afar  off; 
This  is  my  girdle ; 
Whenever  I  brace  it, 
Strength  is  redoubled ! 

The  light  thou  beholdest 
Stream  through  the  heavens. 
In  flashes  of  crimson, 


■66  SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

Is  but  my  red  beard 
Blown  by  the  night-wind, 
Affrighting  the  nations ! 

Jove  is  my  brother  ; 
Mine  eyes  are  the  lightning ; 
The  wheels  of  my  chariot 
Roll  in  the  thunder, 
The  blows  of  my  hammer 
Ring  in  the  earthquake  ! 


SECOND  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS    57 


NOVEMBER 


THE   FIR-TREE 

EDITH    M.    THOMAS 

O  singing  Wind 
Searching  field  and  wood, 

Canst  thou  find 
Aught  that  *s  sweet  or  good. 
Flowers,  to  kiss  awake. 
Or  dewy  grass,  to  shake. 

Or  feathered  seed 

Aloft  to  speed  ? 

Replies  the  wind : 
"  I  cannot  find 
Flowers,  to  kiss  awake. 
Or  dewy  grass  to  shake. 

Or  feathered  seed 

Aloft  to  speed ; 

Yet  I  meet 

Something  sweet, 
When  the  scented  fir,  ^ 
Balsam-breathing  fir  — 
In  my  flight  I  stir. 


68  SECOND  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS 

THE   WINTER  ROBIN 

THOMAS   BAILEY   ALDRICH 

Now  is  that  sad  time  of  year 
When  no  flower  or  leaf  is  here ; 
When  in  misty  Southern  ways 
Oriole  and  jay  have  flown, 
And  of  all  sweet  birds,  alone 
The  robin  stays. 

So  give  thanks  at  Christmas-tide  ; 
Hopes  of  springtime  yet  abide ! 
See,  in  spite  of  darksome  days, 
Wind  and  rain  and  bitter  chill. 
Snow,  and  sleet-hung  branches,  still 
The  robin  stays ! 

THANKSGIYING-DAY 

LYDIA   MARIA   CHILD 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood. 
To  grandfather's  house  we  go ; 
The  horse  knows  the  way 
To  carry  the  sleigh 
Through  the  white  and  drifted  snow. 


SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  59 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood,  — 
Oh,  how  the  wind  does  blow  ! 
It  stings  the  toes, 
And  bites  the  nose, 
As  over  the  ground  we  go. 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood. 
Trot  fast,  my  dapple-gray  ! 

Spring  over  the  ground, 

Like  a  hunting  hound. 
For  this  is  Thanksgiving-Day. 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood. 
And  straight  through  the  barnyard  gate  i 
We  seem  to  go 
Extremely  slow,  — 
It  is  so  hard  to  wait ! 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood ; 
Now  Grandmother's  cap  I  spy ! 

Hurrah  for  the  fun  ! 

Is  the  pudding  done  ? 
Hurrah  for  the  pumpkin  pie ! 


60  SECOND  YEAE  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 


DECEMBER 

YERSES   FROM   SAINT   LUKE 

And  there  were  in  the  same  country  shep- 
herds abiding  in  the  field,  keeping 
watch  over  their  flock  by  night. 

And,  lo,  the  angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon 
them,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shone 
round  about  them :  and  they  were  sore 
afraid. 

And  the  angel  said  unto  them.  Fear  not: 
for,  behold,  I  bring  you  good  tidings 
of  great  joy,  which  shall  be  to  all  peo- 
ple. 

For  unto  you  is  born  this  day  in  the  city  of 
David  a  Saviour,  which  is  Christ  the 
Lord. 

And  this  shall  be  a  sign  unto  you  ;  ye  shall 
find  the  babe  wrapped  in  swaddling 
clothes,  lying  in  a  manger. 

And  suddenly  there  was  with  the  angel  a 
multitude  of  the  heavenly  host  prais- 
ing God,  and  saying. 

Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth 
peace,  good  will  toward  men. 


SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  61 

A  CHRISTMAS   CAROL 

DINAH    MARIA   MULOCK 

God  rest  ye  merry,  gentlemen  ;  let  nothing 

you  dismay, 
For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  on 

Christmas  Day. 

The  dawn  rose  red  o'er  Bethlehem,  the 
stars  shone  through  the  gray. 

When  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born 
on  Christmas  Day. 

God  rest   ye,  little  children  ;   let  nothing 

you  affright, 
For  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  was  born  this 

happy  night ; 

Along  the  hills  of  Galilee  the  white  flocks 

sleeping  lay, 
When  Christ,  the  Child  of  Nazareth,  was 

born  on  Christmas  Day. 


€3  SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

CHRISTMAS-TIME  ^ 

CHARLES   DICKENS 

I  have  always  thought  of  Christmas-time 
as  a  good  time ;  a  kind,  forgiving,  generous, 
pleasant  time  ;  a  time  when  men  and  women 
and  little  children  seem  by  one  consent  to 
open  their  hearts  freely ;  and  so  I  say, "  God 
bless  Christmas." 

^  Slightly  altered. 


SECX)ND  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  63 


JANUARY 


A   NORSE   LULLABY 

EUGENE   FIELD 

The  sky  is  dark  and  the  hills  are  white 
As  the  storm-king  speeds  from  the  north 

to-night ; 
And  this  is  the  song  the  storm-king  sings. 
As  over  the  world  his  cloak  he  flings : 

*'  Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep  ;  " 
He  rustles  his  wings  and  gruffly  sings : 

"  Sleep,  little  one,  sleep." 

On  yonder  mountain-side  a  yine 
Clings  at  the  foot  of  a  mother  pine  ; 
The  tree  bends  over  the  trembling  thing, 
And  only  the  vine  can  hear  her  sing ; 

"  Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep  — 
What  shall  you  fear  when  I  am  here  ? 

"  Sleep,  little  one,  sleep." 

The  king  may  sing  in  his  bitter  flight, 
The  tree  may  croon  to  the  vine  to-night. 
But  the  little  snowflake  at  my  breast 
Liketh  the  song  /  sing  the  best  — 

"  Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep ; 
Weary  thou  art,  a-next  my  heart. 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep." 


04  SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

A   FAREWELL 

CHARLES    KINGSLEY 

My  fairest  child,  I  have  no  song  to  give  you ; 
No  lark  could  pipe  to  skies  so  dull  and 
gray; 
Yet,  ere  we  part,  one  lesson  I  can  leave  you 
For  every  day. 

Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  he 
clever  ; 
Do  nohle  things,  not  dream  them,  all  day 
long; 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  For- 
ever 

One  grand,  sweet  song. 

THE    LIGHTHOUSE 

SIR   WALTER    SCOTT 

Far  in  the  hosom  of  the  deep, 

O'er  these  wild  shelves  my  watch  I  keep ; 

A  ruddy  gem  of  changeful  light. 

Bound  on  the  dusky  brow  of  night. 

The  seaman  bids  my  lustre  hail, 

And  scorns  to  strike  his  timorous  sail. 


SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  65 


FEBRUARY 

THE   SNOWDROP 

ALFRED,    LORD   TENNYSON 

Many,  many  welcomes, 
February  fair-maid, 
Ever  as  of  old  time. 
Solitary  firstling, 
Coming  in  the  cold  time, 
Prophet  of  the  gay  time. 
Prophet  of  the  May  time, 
Prophet  of  the  roses, 
Many,  many  welcomes, 
February  fair-maid ! 

TO   A   CHILD 

WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH 

Small  service  is  true  service  while  it  lasts  : 
Of    humblest   friends,   bright    creature  t 
scorn  not  one. 
The  daisy  by  the  shadow  that  it  casts. 
Protects  the  lingering  dewdrop  from  the 
sun. 


66  SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 


GOD   BLESS   OUR  NATIVE   LAND 

God  bless  our  native  land  ! 
Firm  may  she  ever  stand, 

Through  storm  and  night : 
When  the  wild  tempests  rave. 
Ruler  of  wind  and  wave, 
Do  Thou  our  country  save 

By  Thy  great  might ! 

For  her  our  prayers  shall  rise 
To  God,  above  the  skies ; 

On  Him  we  wait : 
Thou  who  art  ever  nigh, 
Guarding  with  watchful  eye. 
To  Thee  aloud  we  cry, 
**  God  save  the  State  I  *• 


SECOND  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS  67 


MARCH 


LINES   WRITTEN   IN   MARCH 

WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH 

The  cock  is  crowing, 

The  stream  is  flowing, 

The  small  birds  twitter. 

The  lake  doth  glitter, 
The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun ; 

The  oldest  and  youngest 

Are  at  work  with  the  strongest ; 

The  cattle  are  grazing. 

Their  heads  never  raising  ; 
There  are  forty  feeding  like  one  ! 

Like  an  army  defeated 

The  snow  hath  retreated, 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill ; 
The  ploughboy  is  whooping — anon — anon; 

There  's  joy  in  the  mountains  ; 

There  's  life  in  the  fountains ; 

Small  clouds  are  sailing. 

Blue  sky  prevailing  ; 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone ! 


68  SECOND   YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

MARCH 

LUCY   LARCOM 

March !  March  !  March  !    They  are  coming 

In  troops  to  the  tune  of  the  wind  : 
Red-headed  woodpeckers  drumming, 

Gold-crested  thrushes  behind ; 
Sparrows  in  brown  jackets  hopping 

Past  every  gateway  and  door ; 
Finches  with  crimson  caps  stopping 

Just  where  they  stopped  years  before. 
•         •••••• 

March !  March  !  March  !    They  will  hurry 

Forth  at  the  wild  bugle-sound ; 
Blossoms  and  birds  in  a  flurry, 

Fluttering  all  over  the  ground. 
Hang  out  your  flags,  birch  and  willow! 

Shake  out  your  red  tassels,  larch ! 
Up,  blades  of  grass,  from  your  pillow  ! 

Hear  who  is  calling  you  —  March ! 

THE  FOUR  WINDS 

FRANK  DEMPSTER  SHERMAN 

In  winter,  when  the  wind  I  hear, 
I  know  the  clouds  will  disappear ; 


SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS     69 

For  't  is  the  wind  who  sweeps  the  sky, 
And  piles  the  snow  in  ridges  high. 

In  spring,  when  stirs  the  wind,  I  know 
That  soon  the  crocus  buds  will  show ; 
For  't  is  the  wind  who  bids  them  wake 
And  into  pretty  blossoms  break. 

In  summer,  when  it  softly  blows. 
Soon  red  I  know  will  be  the  rose, 
For  *t  is  the  wind  to  her  who  speaks 
And  brings  the  blushes  to  her  cheeks. 

In  autumn,  when  the  wind  is  up, 
I  know  the  acorn 's  out  its  cup ; 
For  't  is  the  wind  who  takes  it  out 
And  plants  an  oak  somewhere  about. 


70  SECOND  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 


APRIL 


ANSWER   TO  A  CHILD'S   QUESTION 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE 

Do  you  ask  what  the  birds  say  ?  The  spar- 
row, the  dove, 

The  linnet,  and  thrush  say,  "  I  loye  and  I 
love !  " 

In  the  winter  they  're  silent,  the  wind  is  so 
strong ; 

What  it  says  I  don't  know,  but  it  sings  a 
loud  song. 

But  green  leaves  and  blossoms,  and  sunny 
warm  weather. 

And  singing  and  loving,  all  come  back  to- 
gether ; 

Then  the  lark  is  so  brimful  of  gladness  and 
love, 

The  green  fields  below  him,  the  blue  sky 
above. 

That  he  sings,  and  he  sings,  and  forever  sings 
he, 

**  I  love  my  Love,  and  my  Love  loves  me." 


SECOND  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS  71 

THE  BLUEBIRD 

EMILY    HUNTINGTON   MILLER 

I  know  the  song  that  the  bluebird  is  singing, 
Up  in  the  apple  tree  where  he  is  swinging. 
Brave   little   fellow !    the  skies   may    look 

dreary,  — 
Nothing  cares  he  while  his  heart  is  so  cheery. 

Hark  !  how  the  music  leaps  out  from  his 

throat ! 
Hark  !  was  there  ever  so  merry  a  note  ? 
Listen  awhile  and    you  '11  hear  what  he  's 

saying, 
Up  in  the  apple  tree  swinging  and  swaying. 

"  Dear  little  blossoms  down  under  the  snow. 
You  must  be  weary  of  winter,  I  know ; 
Hark,  while  I  sing  you  a  message  of  cheer ! 
Summer  is  coming,  and  springtime  is  here  ! 
Little  white  snowdrop,  I  pray  you,  arise ; 
Bright  yellow  crocus,  come,  open  your  eyes  ; 
Sweet  little  violets,  hid  from  the  cold. 
Put  on  your  mantle  of  purple  and  gold ! 
Daffodils !  daffodils  !  say,  do  you  hear  ?  — 
Summer  is  coming,  and  springtime  is  here  !  '* 


72    SECOND  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

HIE   AWAY,   HIE   AWAY 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 

Hie  away,  hie  away, 
Over  bank,  over  brae. 
Where  the  eopsewood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountains  glisten  sheenest, 
Where  the  lady-fern  grows  strongest, 
Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest. 
Where  the  black-cock  sweetest  sips  it. 
Where  the  fairy  latest  trips  it : 

Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen. 

Lovely,  lonesome,  cool,  and  green. 

Over  bank  and  over  brae, 

Hie  away,  hie  away ! 


SECOND  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS  73 


MAY 


LULLABY   FOR  TITANIA 

From  A  Midsummer  Night^s  Dream 
WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

FIRST    FAIRY 

You  spotted  snakes  with  double  tongue^ 
Thorny  hedgehogs,  be  not  seen ; 

Newts  and  blind-worms,  do  no  wrong, 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen. 

CHORUS 

Philomel,  with  melody 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
LuUa,  luUa,  lullaby ;  lulla,  luUa,  lullaby  I 
Never  harm, 
Nor  spell,  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh ! 
So  good-night,  with  lullaby. 

SECOND    FAIRY 

Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here  ; 

Hence,  you  long-legg'd  spinners,  hence ; 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near ; 

Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  o£Fence. 


T4  SECOND  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

CHORUS 

Philomel,  with  melody 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
LuUa,  luUa,  lullaby ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby ! 
Never  harm, 
Nor  spell,  nor  charm. 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ! 
So  good-night,  with  lullaby. 


THE   FAIRIES 

WILLIAM   ALLINGHAM 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen. 
We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together  ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather ! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 
Some  make  their  home. 

They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 
Of  yellow  tide-foam ; 

Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  'mountain-lake, 


SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  75 

With  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs, 
All  night  awake. 

High  on  the  hill-top 

The  old  King  sits ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray 

He  *s  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 
On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses  ; 
Or  going  up  with  music 

On  cold,  starry  nights, 
To  sup  with  the  Queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

By  the  craggy  hillside. 

Through  the  mosses  bare. 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  one  up  in  spite. 
He  shall  find  the  thornies  set 

In  his  bed  at  night. 

Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 


76    SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

Wee  folk,  good  folk, 
Trooping  all  together  ; 

Green  jacket,  red  cap. 
And  white  owl's  feather. 


SONG   OF   THE   FAIRIES 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry,  so  merry,  heigh  ho ! 

As  the  light-hearted  fairy,  heigh  ho,  heigh 
ho! 

He  dances  and  sings 

To  the  sound  of  his  wings, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  heigh,  and  a  ho  ! 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry,  so  airy,  heigh  ho ! 
As  the  light-headed  fairy,  heigh  ho,  heigh 
ho! 

His  nectar  he  sips 

From  a  primrose's  lips. 
With  a  hey,  and  a  heigh,  and  a  ho ! 

Oh,  who  is  so  merry,  so  merry,  heigh  ho ! 

As  the  light-footed  fairy,  heigh  ho,  heigh 
ho! 

His  night  is  the  noon 
And  his  sun  is  the  moon. 

With  a  hey,  and  a  heigh,  and  a  ho ! 


SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  X7 


JUNE 

A  BOY'S  SONG 

JAMES  HOGG 

Where  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep, 
Where  the  gray  trout  lies  asleep, 
Up  the  river,  and  o'er  the  lea. 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  blackbird  sings  the  latest. 
Where  the  hawthorn  blooms  the  sweetest^; 
Where  the  nestlings  chirp  and  flee. 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest. 
Where  the  hay  lies  thick  and  greenest ; 
There  to  trace  the  homeward  bee, 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  hazel  bank  is  steepest. 
Where  the  shadow  falls  the  deepest, 
Where  the  clustering  nuts  fall  free. 
That 's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 


78  SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

SEVEN  TIMES  ONE 

JEAN    INGELOW 

There  *s  no  dew  left  on  the  daisies  and  clover, 
There  *s  no  rain  left  in  heaven ; 

I  've  said  my  **  seven  times  "  over  and  over: 
Seven  times  one  are  seven. 

I  am  old,  so  old  I  can  write  a  letter ; 

My  birthday  lessons  are  done  ; 
The   lambs    play     always,    they    know   no 
better,  — 

They  are  only  one  times  one. 

0  Moon!     in  the  night  I   have  seen  you 

sailing 
And  shining  so  round  and  low  ; 
You  were  bright,  ah  bright !  but  your  light 

is  failing,  — 
You  are  nothing  now  but  a  bow. 

You  Moon,  have  you  done  something  wrong 
in  heaven, 
That  God  has  hidden  your  face  ? 

1  hope  if  you  have,  you  '11  soon  be  forgiven, 
And  shine  again  in  your  place. 


SECOND  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE   POEMS  79 

O  velvet  bee,  you  *re  a  dusty  fellow  ; 

You  've  powdered  your  legs  with  gold  ! 
0  brave  marshmary  buds,  rich  and  yellow, 

Give  me  your  money  to  hold  ! 

O  columbine,  open  your  folded  wrapper. 
Where  two  twin  turtle-doves  dwell ! 

0  cuckoo-pint,  toll  me  the  purple  clapper 
That  hangs  in  your  clear  green  bell ! 

And  show  me  your  nest,  with  the  young  ones 
in  it,  — 
I  will  not  steal  them  away  ; 

1  am    old !     you    may   trust    me,   linnet, 

linnet,  — 
I  am  seven  times  one  to-day. 


WISHING 

WILLIAM    ALLINGHAM 

Ring-ting  I  I  wish  I  were  a  primrose, 
A  bright  yellow  primrose,  blowing  in  the 
spring  ! 
The  stooping  boughs  above  me, 
The  wandering  bee  to  love  me, 
The  fern  and  moss  to  creep  across, 
And  the  elm  tree  for  our  king ! 


80  SECOND  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

Nay  —  stay  !  I  wish  I  were  an  elm  tree, 
A  great,  lofty  elm  tree, with  green  leaves  gay! 
The  winds  would  set  them  dancing, 
The  sun  and  moonshine  glance  in, 
The  hirds  would  house  among  the  boughs, 
And  sweetly  sing. 

O  —  no  !  I  wish  I  were  a  robin, 

A  robin  or  a  little  wren,  everywhere  to  go ; 
Through  forest,  field,  or  garden, 
And  ask  no  leave  or  pardon. 

Till  winter  comes  with  icy  thumbs 
To  ruffle  up  our  wing  ! 

Well  —  tell !  Where  should  I  fly  to, 
Where  go  to  sleep  in  the  dark  wood  or  dell  ? 

Before  a  day  was  over, 

Home  comes  the  rover. 
For  mother's  kiss  —  sweeter  this 

Than  any  other  thing. 


SECOND   YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY 
POEMS   AND   RHYMES 


TO-DAY 

THOMAS   CARLYLE 

Here  hath  been  dawning 
Another  blue  day : 

Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 
Slip  useless  away. 

Out  of  Eternity 

This  new  day  was  born 
Into  Eternity 

At  night,  will  return. 

Behold  it  aforetime 
No  eye  ever  did ; 

So  soon  it  forever 
From  all  eyes  is  hid. 

Here  hath  been  dawning 
Another  blue  day : 

Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 
Slip  useless  away. 


82  SECOND  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

HUMILITY 

ROBERT    HERRICK 

Humble  we  must  be,  if  to  heaven  we  go ; 
High  is  the  roof  there,  but  the  gate  is  low. 

AN  EMERALD  IS  AS  GREEN  AS  GRASS 

CHRISTINA   G.    ROSSETTI 

An  emerald  is  as  green  as  grass ; 

A  ruby  red  as  blood  ; 
A  sapphire  shines  as  blue  as  heaven ; 

A  flint  lies  in  the  mud. 

A  diamond  is  a  brilliant  stone, 
To  catch  the  world's  desire ; 

An  opal  holds  a  fiery  spark ; 
But  a  flint  holds  fire. 

THE  EAGLE 

ALFRED,  LORD   TENNYSON 

He  clasps  the  crag  with  crooked  hands ; 
Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ring'd  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 


SECOND  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS    83 

The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls ; 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls. 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls. 


YIOLETS 

JOHN   MOULTRIE 

Under  the  green  hedges  after  the  snow, 
There  do  the  dear  little  violets  grow, 
Hiding  their  modest  and  beautiful  heads 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  soft  mossy  beds. 

Sweet  as  the  roses,  and  blue  as  the  sky, 
Down  there  do  the  dear  little  violets  lie ; 
Hiding  their  heads  where  they  scarce  may 

be  seen, 
By  the  leaves  you   may  know   where   the 

violet  hath  been. 

TO  VIOLETS 

ROBERT   HERRICK 

Welcome,  maids  of  honor  ! 

You  do  bring 

In  the  Spring, 
And  wait  upon  her. 


84    SECOND  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

She  has  virgins  many, 

Fresh  and  fair ; 

Yet  you  are 
More  sweet  than  any. 

You  *re  the  maiden  posies, 

And  so  graced 

To  be  placed 
Tore  damask  roses. 

Yet,  though  thus  respected, 

By  and  by 

Ye  do  lie 
Poor  girls,  neglected. 


THE    SUCCESSION    OF    THE    FOUR 
SWEET  MONTHS 

ROBERT    HERRICK 

First,  April,  she  with  mellow  showers 

Opens  the  way  for  early  flowers  ; 

Then  after  her  comes  smiling  May, 

In  a  more  rich  and  sweet  array ; 

Next  enters  June,  and  brings  us  more 

Gems  than  those  two  that  went  before  : 

Then,  lastly,  July  comes,  and  she 

More  wealth  brings  in  than  all  those  three. 


SECOND  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS  85 

THE  BROWN  THRUSH 

LUCY   LARCOM 

There 's  a  merry  brown  thrush  sitting  up  in 

the  tree, 
He  *s  singing  to  me  !    He  *s  singing  to  me  ! 
And  what  does  he  say,  little  girl,  little  boy  ? 
♦*  Oh,  the  world 's  running  over  with  joy  ! 

Don't  you  hear  ?  don't  you  see  ? 

Hush  !  Look  !  In  my  tree, 
I  'm  as  happy  as  happy  can  be  !  " 

And  the  brown  thrush  keeps  singing,  "  A 

nest  do  you  see. 
And  five  eggs  hid  by  me  in  the  juniper  tree  ? 
Don't  meddle  !  don't  touch  !  little  girl,  little 

boy. 
Or  the  world  will  lose  some  of  its  joy  ! 
Now  I  'm  glad  !  now  I  'm  free  ! 
And  I  always  shall  be. 
If  you  never  bring  sorrow  to  me.'* 

So  the  merry  brown  thrush  sings  away  in 

the  tree. 
To  you  and  to  me,  to  you  and  to  me ; 
And  he  sings  all  the  day,  little  girl,  little 

bov. 


86  SECOND  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

**  Oh,  the  world 's  running  over  with  joy  ; 

But  long  it  won't  be, 

Don't  you  know  ?  don't  you  see  ? 
Unless  we  are  as  good  as  can  be  I  " 


THE  DANDELIONS 

HELEN   GRAY   CONE 

On  a  showery  night  and  still. 

Without  a  word  of  warning, 
A  trooper  band  surprised  the  hill. 

And  held  it  in  the  morning. 
We  were  not  waked  by  bugle  notes, 

No  cheer  our  dreams  invaded, 
But  at  the  dawn  their  yellow  coats 

On  the  green  slopes  paraded. 

We  careless  folk  the  deed  forgot 

Till  one  day,  idly  walking, 
We  spied  upon  the  self-same  spot, 

A  crowd  of  veterans,  talking. 
They  shook  their  hoary  heads  and  gray, 

With  pride  and  noiseless  laughter, 
Till,  well-a-day,  they  blew  away. 

And  ne'er  were  heard  of  after. 


SECOND  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS  S7 

THE  LOST  DOLL 

CHARLES    KINGSLEY 

I  once  had  a  sweet  little  doll,  dears, 

The  prettiest  doll  in  the  world ; 
Her  cheeks  were  so  red  and  white,  dears, 

And  her  hair  was  so  charmingly  curled. 
But  I  lost  my  poor  little  doll,  dears, 

As  I  played  in  the  heath  one  day  ; 
And  I  cried  for  her  more  than  a  week,  dears, 

But  I  never  could  find  where  she  lay. 

I  found  my  poor  little  doll,  dears, 

As  I  played  in  the  heath  one  day ; 
Folks  say  she  is  terribly  changed,  dears. 

For  her  paint  is  all  washed  away. 
And  her  arms  trodden  off  by  the  cows,  dears» 

And  her  hair  not  the  least  bit  curled ; 
Yet  for  old  sakes'  sake,  she  is  still,  dears, 

The  prettiest  doll  in  the  world. 


88    SECOND  YEAR— SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS 

HIAWATHA'S  SAILING 

From  The  Song  of  Hiawatha 
HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

"  Give  me  of  your  bark,  O  Birch-Tree ! 
Of  your  yellow  bark,  O  Birch-Tree  ! 
Growing  by  the  rushing  river, 
Tall  and  stately  in  the  valley ! 
I  a  light  canoe  will  build  me, 
Build  a  swift  Cheemaun  for  sailing, 
That  shall  float  upon  the  river, 
Like  a  yellow  leaf  in  Autumn, 
Like  a  yellow  water-lily ! 

"  Lay  aside  your  cloak,  O  Birch-Tree ! 
Lay  aside  your  white-skin  wrapper, 
For  the  Summer-time  is  coming, 
And  the  sun  is  warm  in  heaven. 
And  you  need  no  white-skin  wrapper  !  " 

Thus  aloud  cried  Hiawatha 
In  the  solitary  forest, 
By  the  rushing  Taquamenaw, 
When  the  birds  were  singing  gayly, 
In  the  Moon  of  Leaves  were  singing, 
And  the  sun,  from  sleep  awaking. 
Started  up  and  said,  "  Behold  me  ! 
Gheezis,  the  great  Sun,  behold  me  !  " 

And  the  tree  with  all  its  branches 


SECOND  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS    89 

Rustled  in  the  breeze  of  morning, 
Saying,  with  a  sigh  of  patience, 
"  Take  my  cloak,  O  Hiawatha  !  " 

With  his  knife  the  tree  he  girdled ; 
Just  beneath  its  lowest  branches, 
Just  above  the  roots,  he  cut  it. 
Till  the  sap  came  oozing  outward ; 
Down  the  trunk,  from  top  to  bottom, 
Sheer  he  cleft  the  bark  asunder. 
With  a  wooden  wedge  he  raised  it. 
Stripped  it  from  the  trunk  unbroken. 

**  Give  me  of  your  boughs,  O  Cedar ! 
Of  your  strong  and  pliant  branches, 
My  canoe  to  make  more  steady, 
Make  more  strong  and  firm  beneath  me  !  ** 

Through  the  summit  of  the  Cedar 
Went  a  sound,  a  cry  of  horror. 
Went  a  murmur  of  resistance  ; 
But  it  whispered,  bending  downward, 
*'  Take  my  boughs,  O  Hiawatha  ! " 

Down  he  hewed  the  boughs  of  cedar, 
Shaped  them  straightway  to  a  framework. 
Like  two  bows  he  formed  and  shaped  them, 
Like  two  bended  bows  together. 

*'  Give  me  of  your  roots,  O  Tamarack  I 
Of  your  fibrous  roots,  O  Larch-Tree ! 
My  canoe  to  bind  together, 
So  to  bind  the  ends  together 
That  the  water  may  not  enter. 
That  the  river  may  not  wet  me  !  " 


90  SECOND  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

And  the  Larch,  with  all  its  fibres, 
Shivered  in  the  air  of  morning, 
Touched  his  forehead  with  its  tassels, 
Said,  with  one  long  sigh  of  sorrow, 
"  Take  them  all,  O  Hiawatha  !  " 

From  the  earth  he  tore  the  fibres, 
Tore  the  tough  roots  of  the  Larch-Tree, 
Closely  sewed  the  bark  together. 
Bound  it  closely  to  the  framework. 

*'  Give  me  of  your  balm,  O  Fir-Tree ! 
Of  your  balsam  and  your  resin, 
So  to  close  the  seams  together 
That  the  water  may  not  enter, 
That  the  river  may  not  wet  me  !  " 

And  the  Fir-Tree,  tall  and  sombre, 
Sobbed  through  all  its  robes  of  darkness, 
Rattled  like  a  shore  with  pebbles, 
Answered  wailing,  answered  weeping, 
**  Take  my  balm,  O  Hiawatha !  " 

And  he  took  the  tears  of  balsam. 
Took  the  resin  of  the  Fir-Tree, 
Smeared  therewith  each  seam  and  fissure, 
Made  each  crevice  safe  from  water. 

**  Give  me  of  your  quills,  O  Hedgehog ! 
All  your  quills,  O  Kagh,  the  Hedgehog ! 
I  will  make  a  necklace  of  them, 
Make  a  girdle  for  my  beauty. 
And  two  stars  to  deck  her  bosom !  " 

From  a  hollow  tree  the  Hedgehog 
With  his  sleepy  eyes  looked  at  him, 


SECOND  YEAR— SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS  91 

Shot  his  shining  quills,  like  arrows, 
Saying,  with  a  drowsy  murmur, 
Through  the  tangle  of  his  whiskers, 
"  Take  my  quills,  O  Hiawatha !  " 

From  the  ground  the  quills  he  gathered, 
All  the  little  shining  arrows. 
Stained  them  red  and  blue  and  yellow. 
With  the  juice  of  roots  and  berries ; 
Into  his  canoe  he  wrought  them, 
Round  its  waist  a  shining  girdle, 
Round  its  bows  a  gleaming  necklace. 
On  its  breast  tAVO  stars  resplendent. 

Thus  the  Birch  Canoe  was  builded 
In  the  valley,  by  the  river, 
In  the  bosom  of  the  forest ; 
And  the  forest's  life  was  in  it, 
All  its  mystery  and  its  magic, 
All  the  lightness  of  the  birch-tree, 
All  the  toughness  of  the  cedar. 
All  the  larch's  supple  sinews  ; 
And  it  floated  on  the  river. 
Like  a  yellow  leaf  in  Autumn, 
Like  a  yellow  water-lily. 

Paddles  none  had  Hiawatha, 
Paddles  none  he  had  or  needed. 
For  his  thoughts  as  paddles  served  him, 
And  his  wishes  served  to  guide  him  ; 
Swift  or  slow  at  will  he  glided. 
Veered  to  right  or  left  at  pleasure. 


THIRD  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS 

SEPTEMBER 

THE  ARROW  AND  THE   SONG 

HENRY   W.   LONGFELLOW 

I  shot  an  arrow  into  the  air, 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where ; 
For,  so  swiftly  it  flew,  the  sight 
Could  not  follow  it  in  its  flight. 

I  breathed  a  song  into  the  air. 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where ; 
For  who  has  sight  so  keen  and  strong, 
That  it  can  follow  the  flight  of  song  ? 

Long,  long  afterward,  in  an  oak 
I  found  the  arrow,  still  unbroke  ; 
And  the  song,  from  beginning  to  end, 
I  found  again  in  the  heart  of  a  friend. 


THIRD  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS  93 


OCTOBER 

OCTOBER'S  BRIGHT  BLUE  WEATHEH 

HELEN    HUNT   JACKSON 

0  suns  and  skies  and  clouds  of  June, 
And  flowers  of  June  together, 

Ye  cannot  rival  for  one  hour 
October's  bright  blue  weather. 

When  loud  the  bumble-bee  makes  haste, 

Belated,  thriftless  vagrant, 
And  golden-rod  is  dying  fast. 

And  lanes  with  grapes  are  fragrant ; 

When  gentians  roll  their  fringes  tight 
To  save  them  for  the  morning, 

And  chestnuts  fall  from  satin  burrs 
Without  a  sound  of  warning  ; 

When  on  the  ground  red  apples  lie 

In  piles  like  jewels  shining. 
And  redder  still  on  old  stone  walls 

Are  leaves  of  woodbine  twining. 

•  •••••• 

O  suns  and  skies  and  flowers  of  June, 
Count  all  your  boasts  together, 

Love  loveth  best  of  all  the  year 
October's  bright  blue  weather. 


94  THIRD  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS 


NOVEMBER 


THE   SANDPIPER 

CELIA   THAXTER 

Across  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I  ; 
And  fast  I  gather,  bit  by  bit, 

The  scattered  driftwood  bleached  and  dry 
The  wild  waves  reach  their  hands  for  it, 

The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  highj 
As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit,  — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 

Scud  black  and  swift  across  the  sky ; 
Like  silent  ghosts  in  misty  shrouds 

Stand  out  the  white  light-houses  high. 
Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 

I  see  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly, 
As  fast  we  flit  along  the  beach,  • — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

I  watch  him  as  he  skims  along. 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry ; 

He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song, 
Or  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 


THIRD  YEAR— REQUIRED  POEMS  95 

He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong ; 

He  scans  me  with  a  fearless  eye. 
Stanch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong, 

The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Comrade,  wnere  wilt  thou  be  to-night, 

When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously  ? 
My  driftwood  fire  will  burn  so  bright ! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly  ? 
I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 

The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky ; 
For  are  we  not  God's  children  both, 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I  ? 


96  THIRD  YEAR —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


DECEMBER 

WHILE    SHEPHERDS    WATCHED 
THEIR  FLOCKS  BY  NIGHT 

NAHUM   TATE 

While  shepherds  watched  their    flocks  by 
night, 

All  seated  on  the  ground, 
The  angel  of  the  Lord  came  down, 

And  glory  shone  around. 
"  Fear  not,"  said  he,  for  mighty  dread 

Had  seized  their  troubled  mind ; 
"  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring 

To  you  and  all  mankind. 

**  To  you,  in  David's  town,  this  day, 

Is  born  of  David's  line 
A  Saviour,  who  is  Christ  the  Lord, 

And  this  shall  be  the  sign  : 
The  heavenly  babe  you  there  shall  find 

To  human  view  displayed, 
All  meanly  wrapped  in  swaddling  bands, 

And  in  a  manger  laid." 

Thus  spake  the  seraph  ;  and  forthwith 
Appeared  a  shining  throng 


THIRD  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS  97 

Of  angels,  praising  God,  who  thus 

Addressed  their  joyful  song  : 
"  All  glory  be  to  God  on  high, 

And  to  the  earth  be  peace ; 
Good-will  henceforth  from  heaven  to  men 

Begin  and  never  cease.'* 


98  THIRD  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS 


JANUARY 


ABOU  BEN  ADEEM 

LEIGH    HUNT 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase  !) 
Awoke   one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of 

peace, 
And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  Angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  peace  had   made   Ben   Adhem 

bold, 
And  to  the  Presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
*'  What  writest  thou  ?  "    The  Yision  raised 

its  head, 
And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord 
Answered,  "  The  names  of  those  who  love 

the  Lord !  " 
"  And  is  mine  one  ?  "    said  Abou.     "  Nay, 

not  so," 
Replied  the  Angel.   Abou  spoke  more  low, 
But  cheerly  still ;  and  said,  "  I  pray  thee 

then, 
Write   me   as   one   that   loves   his   fellow- 

men.'* 


THIRD  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS  99 

The  Angel  wrote,  and  vanished.  The  next 

night 
It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 
And  showed  the  names  whom  loye  of  God 

had  blest ; 
And  lo  !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 


100  THIRD  YEAR  —  REQUIRED   POEMS 


FEBRUARY 

WINTER  RAIN 

CHRISTINA   G.   ROSSETTI 

Every  valley  drinks, 

Every  dell  and  hollow  ; 
Where  the  kind  rain  sinks  and  sinks, 

Green  of  spring  will  follow. 

Yet  a  lapse  of  weeks, 

Buds  will  burst  their  edges. 
Strip  their  wool-coats,  glue-coats,  streaks, 

In  the  woods  and  hedges. 

But  for  fattening  rain 

We  should  have  no  flowers ; 
Never  a  bud  or  leaf  again 

But  for  soaking  showers ; 

Never  a  mated  bird 

In  the  rocking  tree-tops  ; 
Never  indeed  a  flock  or  herd 

To  graze  upon  the  lea-crops  ; 

We  should  find  no  moss 
In  the  shadiest  places ; 


THIRD  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS         101 

Find  no  waving  meadow-grass 
Pied  with  broad-eyed  daisies  ; 

But  miles  of  barren  sand, 

With  never  a  son  or  daughter. 

Not  a  lily  on  the  land, 
Or  lily  on  the  water. 


102  THIRD  YEAR —  REQUIRED  POEMS 


MARCH 

MARCH 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT 

The  stormy  March  is  come  at  last, 

With    wind,    and   cloud,    and   changing 
skies ; 

I  hear  the  rushing  of  the  blast, 

That  through  the  snowy  valley  flies. 

Ah,  passing  few  are  they  who  speak. 
Wild,  stormy  month,  in  praise  of  thee  ; 

Yet,  though  thy  winds  are  loud  and  bleak. 
Thou  art  a  welcome  month  to  me. 

For  thou  to  northern  lands  again 

The  glad  and  glorious  sun  dost  bring ; 

And  thou  hast  joined  the  gentle  train 
And  wear'st  the  gentle  name  of  Spring. 


THIRD  YEAR— REQUIRED  POEMS  103 


APRIL 

WILD   GEESE 

CELIA   THAXTER 

The  wind  blows,  the  sun  shines,  the  birds 

sing  loud, 
The  blue,  blue  sky  is  flecked  with  fleecy 

dappled  cloud, 
Over  earth's  rejoicing  fields  the   children 

dance  and  sing. 
And  the  frogs  pipe  in  chorus,  "  It  is  spring ! 

It  is  spring  !  " 

The  grass  comes,  the  flower  laughs  where 

lately  lay  the  snow, 
O'er  the  breezy  hill-top  hoarsely  calls  the 

crow. 
By    the    flowing   river   the   alder   catkins 

swing, 
And  the  sweet  song-sparrow  cries,  "  Spring  ! 

It  is  spring  !  " 

Hark,  what  a  clamor  goes  winging  through 

the  sky ! 
Look,   children !     Listen  to  the  sound  so 

wild  and  high  ! 


104         THIRD  YEAR—  REQUIRED  POEMS 

Like  a  peal  of  broken  bells,  —  kling,  klang, 

kling,  — 
Far  and  high  the  wild  geese  cry,  "  Spring ! 

It  is  spring  !  " 

Bear  the  winter  off  with  you,  0  wild  geese 
dear ! 

Carry  all  the  cold  away,  far  away  from 
here ; 

Chase  the  snow  into  the  North,  O  strong  of 
heart  and  wing, 

While  we  share  the  robin's  rapture,  cry- 
ing, "  Spring  !     It  is  spring !  " 


THIRD  YEAR  —  REQUIRED  POEMS  105 


MAY 


THE   CLOUD 

PERCY   BYS8HE   SHELLEY 

I    bring    fresh   showers   for    the   thirsting 
flowers, 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams ; 
I  bear  light  shade  for  the  leaves  when  laid 

In  their  noonday  dreams. 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that 
waken 

The  sweet  buds  every  one, 
When   rocked   to   rest  on   their   mother's 
breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail. 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under, 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain. 

And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder. 

•  •••••• 

I  am  the  daughter  of  earth  and  water. 
And  the  nursling  of  the  sky  ; 

I  pass  through  the  pores  of  the  ocean  and 
shores ; 
I  change,  but  I  cannot  die. 


106  THIRD  YEAR  — REQUIRED  POEMS 

JUNE 

RAIN   IN   SUMMER 

HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain ! 

After  the  dust  and  heat, 

In  the  broad  and  fiery  street, 

In  the  narrow  lane. 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain  ! 

How  it  clatters  along  the  roofs. 

Like  the  tramp  of  hoofs  ! 

How  it  gushes  and  struggles  out 

From  the  throat  of  the  overflowing  spout  I 

Across  the  window  pane 

It  pours  and  pours ; 

And  swift  and  wide. 

With  a  muddy  tide, 

Like  a  river  down  the  gutter  roars 

The  rain,  the  welcome  rain ! 

•         ••••••  • 

In  the  country,  on  every  side, 

Where  far  and  wide, 

Like  a  leopard's  tawny  and  spotted  hide, 

Stretches  the  plain, 

To  the  dry  grass  and  the  drier  grain 

How  welcome  is  the  rain  ! 


THIRD  YE AR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

SEPTEMBER 

DON'T   GIVE   UP 

PHCEBE    GARY 

If  you  *ve  tried  and  have  not  won, 

Never  stop  for  crying ; 
All  that 's  great  and  good  is  done 

Just  by  patient  trying. 

Though  young  birds,  in  flying,  fall. 
Still  their  wings  grow  stronger ; 

And  the  next  time  they  can  keep 
Up  a  little  longer. 

Though  the  sturdy  oak  has  known 
Many  a  blast  that  bowed  her, 

She  has  risen  again,  and  grown 
Loftier  and  prouder. 

If  by  easy  work  you  beat. 

Who  the  more  will  prize  you  ^ 

Gaining  victory  from  defeat, 
That 's  the  test  that  tries  you ! 


108  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

FLOWER  IN  THE  CRANNIED  WALL 

ALFRED,    LORD    TENNYSON 

Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 

I  hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 

Little  flower  —  but  if  I  could  understand 

What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 

I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

FRIENDS 

L.    G.   WARNER 

North  wind    came  whistling  through    the 

wood, 
Where  the  tender,  sweet  things  grew. 
The  tall  fair  ferns  and  the  maiden's  hair. 
And  the  gentle  gentians  blue, 
"  It  is  very  cold ;  are  we  growing  old  ?  " 
They  sighed,  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

The  sigh  went  up  to  the  loving  leaves,  — 

"  We  must  help,"  they  whispered  low. 

"  They  are  frightened  and  weak,  0  brave  old 

trees  ! 
But  we  love  you  well,  you  know.** 


THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  109 

And  the  trees  said,  "  We  are  strong  —  make 

haste  ! 
Down  to  the  darlings  go." 

So  the  leaves  went  floating,  floating  down, 

All  yellow  and  brown  and  red, 

And  the  frail  little  trembling,  thankful  things 

Lay  still  and  were  comforted. 

And  the  blue  sky  smiled  through  the  bare 

old  trees 
Down  on  their  safe  warm  bed* 


110  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 


OCTOBER 


INDIAN  SUMMER 

From  The  Eve  of  Election 
JOHN    GREENLEAF   WHITTIER 

From  gold  to  gray 

Our  mild,  sweet  day 
Of  Indian  Summer  fades  too  soon  ; 

But  tenderly 

Above  the  sea 
Hangs,  white  and  calm,  the  hunter's  mooiL 

In  its  pale  fire 

The  village  spire 
Shows  like  the  zodiac's  spectral  lance ; 

The  painted  walls 

Whereon  it  falls 
Transfigured  stand  in  marble  trance. 

ROBIN   REDBREAST 

WILLIAM   ALLINGHAM 

Good-bye,  good-bye  to  summer! 

For  summer  *s  nearly  done  ; 
The  garden  smiling  faintly, 

Cool  breezes  in  the  sun ; 


THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  Ul 

Our  thrushes  now  are  silent, 

Our  swallows  flown  away,  — 
But  Robin 's  here,  in  coat  of  brown. 

And  scarlet  breast-knot  gay. 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear  ! 
Robin  sings  so  sweetly 

In  the  falling  of  the  year. 

Bright  yellow,  red,  and  orange. 

The  leaves  come  down  in  hosts ; 
The  trees  are  Indian  princes, 

But  soon  they  '11  turn  to  ghosts ; 
The  scanty  pears  and  apples 

Hang  russet  on  the  bough  ; 
It 's  autumn,  autumn,  autumn  late, 

'T  will  soon  be  winter  now. 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear ! 
And  what  will  this  poor  Robin  do  ? 

For  pinching  days  are  near. 

•         .••■•• 
The  fire -side  for  the  cricket. 

The  wheat-stack  for  the  mouse. 
When  trembling  night-winds  whistle 

And  moan  all  round  the  house. 
The  frosty  ways  like  iron, 

The  branches  plumed  with  snow,  — 
Alas  !  in  winter  dead  and  dark. 

Where  can  poor  Robin  go  ? 


112  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear ! 
And  a  crumb  of  bread  for  Robin, 

His  little  heart  to  cheer. 


THE  TILLAGE   BLACKSMITH 

HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut-tree 

The  village  smithy  stands ; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands  ; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat. 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can. 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face. 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night. 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow ; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow, 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 


THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  112. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door  ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chafi"  from  a  threshing-floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys  ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice. 
Singing  in  the  village  choir. 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice, 

Singing  in  Paradise ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling,  —  rejoicing,  —  sorrowing,  — 

Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 

Each  evening  sees  it  close  ; 
Something  attempted,  something  done. 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 


114  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought ! 


THIRD  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS  115 


NOVEMBER 

NO! 

THOMAS   HOOD 

No  sun  —  no  moon  ! 
No  morn  —  no  noon  ! 
No  dawn  —  no  dusk  —  no  proper  time  of 
day  — 
No  sky  —  no  earthly  yiew  — 
No  distance  looking  blue  — 
No  road —  no  street  —  no  *'  t  'other  side  the 
way," 
■  •  •  •  •  •  • 

No  warmth,  no  cheerfulness,  no  healthful 
ease, 

No  comfortable  feel  in  any  member  — 
No  shade,  no  shine,  no  butterflies,  no  bees  — 

No — vember ! 

NOVEMBER 

ALICE   CARY 

The  leaves  are  fading  and  falling. 
The  winds  are  rough  and  wild. 

The  birds  have  ceased  their  calling, 
But  let  me  tell  you,  my  child. 


116  THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

Though  day  by  day,  as  it  closes, 
Doth  darker  and  colder  grow, 

The  roots  of  the  bright  red  roses 
Will  keep  alive  in  the  snow. 

And  when  the  winter  is  over, 
The  boughs  will  get  new  leaves. 

The  quail  come  back  to  the  clover. 
And  the  swallow  back  to  the  eaves. 


There  must  be  rough,  cold  weather. 
And  winds  and  rains  so  wild ; 

Not  all  good  things  together 
Come  to  us  here,  my  child. 

So,  when  some  dear  joy  loses 
Its  beauteous  summer  glow, 

Think  how  the  roots  of  the  roses 
Are  kept  alive  in  the  snow. 


THE  TWENTY-THIRD   PSALM 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd  ;  I  shall  not  want. 
He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures  ; 

he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters. 
He  restoreth  my  soul :  he  leadeth  me  in  the 

paths  of  righteousness  for  his  name's 

sake. 


THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  117 

Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil : 
for  thou  art  with  me  ;  thy  rod  and  thy 
staff  they  comfort  me. 

Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the 
presence  of  mine  enemies  :  thou  an- 
ointest  my  head  with  oil :  my  cup  run- 
neth over. 

Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me 
all  the  days  of  my  life  ;  and  I  will  dwell 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for  ever. 


118  THIRD  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS 


DECEMBER 

CHRISTMAS  CAROL 

ROBERT    HERRICK 

What  sweeter  music  can  we  bring 

Than  a  carol  for  to  sing 

The  Birth  of  this  our  heayenly  King  ? 

•  •  •  •  • 

Dark,  dull  night,  fly  hence  away, 
And  give  the  honor  to  this  day. 
That  sees  December  turned  to  May. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

Why  does  the  chilling  winter  morn 
Smile  like  a  field  beset  with  corn ; 
Or  smell  like  to  a  mead  new-shorn 
Thus  on  the  sudden  ?    Come  and  see 
The  cause,  why  things  thus  fragrant  be. 
'T  is  He  is  born,  whose  quickening  birth 
Gives  life  and  lustre,  public  mirth, 
To  heaven  and  the  under-earth. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

The  Darling  of  the  world  is  come, 
And  fit  it  is  we  find  a  room 
To  welcome  Him.    The  nobler  part 
Of  all  the  house  here  is  the  heart. 


THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  119 

Wliich  we  will  give  Him,  and  bequeath 
This  holly  and  this  ivy  wreath, 
To  do  him  honor  who 's  our  King, 
And  Lord  of  all  our  revelling. 


HILDA'S   CHRISTMAS 

M.   A.    L.   LANE 

Standing  apart  from  the  childish  throng, 
Little  Hilda  was  silent  and  sad ; 
She  could  not  join  in  the  happy  song. 
She  could  not  echo  the  voices  glad. 

"  What  can  I  do  on  Christmas  day  ? 

I  am  so  little  and  we  are  so  poor," 

She  said  to  herself  in  a  dreary  way ; 

"  I  wish  there  was  never  a  Christmas  more.'^ 

"  Mother  is  sick  and  father  can't  know 
How  children  talk  of  their  gifts  and  joy, 
Or  he  'd  surely  try,  he  loves  me  so, 
To  get  me  just  one  single  toy.*' 

"  But  Christmas  is  n't  for  what  you  get," 
She  heard  a  small,  sweet,  tender  voice,  — • 
*'  It 's  for  what  you  give,"  said  wee  Janet, 
And  the  words  made  Hilda's  heart  rejoice. 


120  THIRD  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS 

"  It  is  n't  our  birthday,"  went  on  the  mite, 
"It  is  Christ's,  you  know  ;  and  I  think  he'd 

say 
If  he  were  to  talk  with  us  to-night 
That  he  'd  wish  us  to  keep  it  his  own  way." 

A  plan  came  into  Hilda's  head ; 
It  seemed  to  her  she  could  hardly  wait. 
"  I  can't  give  nice  things,"  she  bravely  said, 
"  But  I  '11  do  what  I  can  to  celebrate." 

•*  I  can  give  the  baby  a  day  of  fun ; 
I  can  take  my  plant  to  the  poor,  lame  boy ; 
I  can  do  mother's  errands  —  every  one  ; 
And  my  old  kite  I  can  mend  for  Roy. 

**  I  can  read  to  father  and  save  his  eyes ; 
I  can  feed  the  birds  in  the  locust  grove ; 
I  can  give  the  squirrels  a  fine  surprise ; 
And  Grandma  shall  have  a  letter  of  love." 

Now  when  that  busy  day  was  done, 
And  tired  Hilda  crept  to  bed. 
She  forgot  that  she  had  no  gift  of  her  own,  — - 
"  What  a  lovely  Christmas  it  was !  "  she  said. 


THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  121 

NEW  YEAR'S   EYE 

ALFRED,    LORD   TENNYSON 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky, 
The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light : 
The  year  is  dying  in  the  night ; 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new, 
Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow  : 
The  year  is  going,  let  him  go ; 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 
«  •  .  •  •  • 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  bloods 
The  civic  slander  and  the  spite ; 
Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right, 

Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease ; 

Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold ; 

Ring  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old, 
Ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 

Ring  in  the  valiant  man  and  free. 
The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand ; 
Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land, 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be. 


122  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 


JANUARY 

THE  FOUR  WINDS 

From  The  Song  of  Hiawatha 
HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

**  Honor  be  to  Mudjekeewis !  ** 
With  a  shout  exclaimed  the  people, 
"  Honor  be  to  Mudjekeewis  ! 
Henceforth  he  shall  be  the  West-Wind, 
And  hereafter  and  forever 
Shall  he  hold  supreme  dominion 
Over  all  the  winds  of  heaven. 
Call  him  no  more  Mudjekeewis, 
Call  him  Kabeyun,  the  West-Wind !  " 

Thus  was  Mudjekeewis  chosen 
Father  of  the  Winds  of  Heaven. 
For  himself  he  kept  the  West- Wind, 
Gave  the  others  to  his  children ; 
Unto  Wabun  gave  the  East-Wind, 
Gave  the  South  to  Shawondasee, 
And  the  North-Wind,  wild  and  cruel. 
To  the  fierce  Kabibonokka. 

WABUN,    THE    EAST-WIND 

Young  and  beautiful  was  Wabun ; 
He  it  was  who  brought  the  morning, 


THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  123 

He  it  was  whose  silver  arrows 
Chased  the  dark  o'er  hill  and  valley ; 
He  it  was  whose  cheeks  were  painted 
With  the  brightest  streaks  of  crimson, 
And  whose  voice  awoke  the  village, 
Called  the  deer,  and  called  the  hunter. 

KABIBONOKKA,    THE    NORTH-WIND 

But  the  fierce  Kabibonokka 
Had  his  dwelling  among  icebergs. 
In  the  everlasting  snow-drifts. 
In  the  kingdom  of  Wabasso, 
In  the  land  of  the  White  Rabbit. 
He  it  was  whose  hand  in  Autumn 
Painted  all  the  trees  with  scarlet. 
Stained  the  leaves  with  red  and  yellow ; 
He  it  was  who  sent  the  snow-flakes. 
Sifting,  hissing  through  the  forest. 
Froze  the  ponds,  the  lakes,  the  rivers, 
Drove  the  loon  and  sea-gull  southward, 
Drove  the  cormorant  and  curlew 
To  their  nests  of  sedge  and  sea-tang 
In  the  realms  of  Shawondasee. 


SHAWONDASEE,    THE    SOUTH-WIND 

Shawondasee,  fat  and  lazy, 
Had  his  dwelling  far  to  southward. 
In  the  drowsy,  dreamy  sunshine, 


124  THIRD   YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

In  the  never-ending  Summer. 

He  it  was  who  sent  the  wood-birds, 

Sent  the  robin,  the  Opechee, 

Sent  the  bluebird,  the  Owaissa, 

Sent  the  Shawshaw,  sent  the  sw^allow, 

Sent  the  wild-goose,  Wawa,  northward. 

Sent  the  melons  and  tobacco, 

And  the  grapes  in  purple  clusters. 

From  his  pipe  the  smoke  ascending 
Filled  the  sky  with  haze  and  vapor, 
Filled  the  air  with  dreamy  softness. 
Gave  a  twinkle  to  the  water, 
Touched  the  rugged  hills  with  smoothness. 
Brought  the  tender  Indian  Summer 
To  the  melancholy  north-land, 
In  the  dreary  Moon  of  Snow-shoes. 

•  ••••*« 

Thus  the  Four  Winds  were  divided ; 
Thus  the  sons  of  Mudjekeewis 
Had  their  stations  in  the  heavens. 
At  the  corners  of  the  heavens  ; 
For  himself  the  West- Wind  only 
Kept  the  mighty  Mudjekeewis. 


THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  125 


FEBRUARY 


STANZAS   ON   FREEDOM 

JAMES   RUSSELL   LOWELL 

Is  true  Freedom  but  to  break 
Fetters  for  our  OAvn  dear  sake, 
And,  with  leathern  hearts,  forget 
That  we  owe  mankind  a  debt  ? 
No !  true  Freedom  is  to  share 
All  the  chains  our  brothers  wear, 
And,  with  heart  and  hand,  to  be 
Earnest  to  make  others  free ! 

They  are  slaves  who  fear  to  speak 

For  the  fallen  and  the  weak ; 

They  are  slaves  who  will  not  choose 

Hatred,  scoffing,  and  abuse. 

Rather  than  in  silence  shrink 

From  the  truth  they  needs  must  think  % 

They  are  slaves  who  dare  not  be 

In  the  right  with  two  or  three. 


126  THIRD  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS 


CIYIC  CREED  1 

God  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  of 
men,  and  we  are  his  children,  —  brothers  and 
sisters  all.  We  are  citizens  of  these  United 
States,  and  we  believe  our  Flag  stands  for 
self-sacrifice  for  the  good  of  all  the  people. 
We  want,  therefore,  to  be  true  citizens  of 
our  great  country,  and  will  show  our  love 
for  her  by  our  works. 

Our  country  does  not  ask  us  to  die  for  her 
welfare ;  she  asks  us  to  live  for  her,  and  so 
to  live  and  so  to  act  that  her  government 
may  be  pure,  her  officers  honest,  and  every 
corner  of  her  territory  shall  be  a  place  fit  to 
grow  the  best  men  and  women,  who  shall 
rule  over  her. 

^  Slightly  altered  from  the  Civic  Creed,  as  written  by  Miss  Mary 
McDowell  for  the  children  and  young  people  of  the  University  Settle^ 
tnent,  Chicago,  Illinois. 


THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  127 

MY  NATIVE   LAND 

From  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrd 
SIR   WALTER   SCOTT 

Breathes  there  the  man,  with  soul  so  dead. 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

"  This  is  my  own  —  my  native  land  !  *' 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned, 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned 

From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ? 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well ; 
For  him  no  minstrel  raptures  swell ; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim,  — 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf. 
The  wretch,  concentered  all  in  self. 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung. 


128  THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 


MARCH 


GREEK  CHILDREN'S   SONG 

The  swallow  has  co«ne  again 

Across  the  wide,  white  sea ; 

She  sits  and  sings  through  the  falling  rain, 

"  O  March,  my  beloved  March  ! 

And  thou,  sad  February, 

Though  still  you  may  cover  with  snow  the 

plain. 
You  yet  smell  sweet  of  the  spring !  " 


SPRING  HAS  COME 

OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES 

The  sunbeams,  lost  for  half  a  year, 

Slant   through   my  pane  their   morning 
rays; 

For  dry  northwesters  cold  and  clear, 
The  east  blows  in  its  thin  blue  haze. 

And  first  the  snowdrop's  bells  are  seen, 
Then,  close  against  the  sheltering  wall. 

The  tulip's  horn  of  dusky  green. 
The  peony's  dark  unfolding  ball. 


THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  129 

The  golden-chaliced  crocus  burns  ; 

The  long  narcissus-blades  appear ; 
The  corn-beaked  hyacinth  returns 

To  light  her  blue-flamed  chandelier. 


The  elms  have  robed  their  slender  spray 
With  full-blown  flower  and  embryo  leaf; 

Wide  o'er  the  clasping  arch  of  day 
Soars  like  a  cloud  their  hoary  chief. 

When  wake  the  violets,  Winter  dies  ; 

When  sprout  the  elm-buds,  Spring  is  near ; 
When  lilacs  blossom.  Summer  cries, 
"  Bud,  little  roses  !  Spring  is  here  !  " 


DAYBREAK 

HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

A  wind  came  up  out  of  tho  sea, 

And  said,  "  O  mists,  make  room  for  me." 

It  hailed  the  ships,  and  cried,  "  Sail  on, 
Ye  mariners,  the  night  is  gone." 

And  hurried  landward  far  away, 
Crying,  *'  Awake  !  it  is  the  day." 


130  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

It  said  unto  the  forest,  "  Shout ! 
Hang  all  your  leafy  banners  out!  " 

It  touched  the  wood-bird's  folded  wing, 
And  said,  "  O  bird,  awake  and  sing.'* 

And  o'er  the  farms,  "  O  chanticleer, 
Your  clarion  blow ;  the  day  is  near." 


THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  131 


APRIL 

APRIL  AND  MAY 

From  May-Day 
RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON 

April  cold  with  dropping  rain 
Willows  and  lilacs  brings  again, 
The  whistle  of  returning  birds, 
And  trumpet-lowing  of  the  herds. 
The  scarlet  maple-keys  betray 
What  potent  blood  hath  modest  May, 
What  fiery  force  the  earth  renews, 
The  wealth  of  forms,  the  flush  of  hues ; 
What  joy  in  rosy  waves  outpoured 
Flows  from  the  heart  of  Love,  the  Lord. 

CONCORD  HYMN 

RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood. 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 


132  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps ; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down   the  dark   stream  which   seaward 
creeps. 

On  the  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone  ; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem. 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 
The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  HOUR 

HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

Between  the  dark  and  the  daylight, 
When  the  night  is  beginning  to  lower. 

Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupations, 
That  is  known  as  the  Children's  Hour. 

I  hear  in  the  chamber  above  me 

The  patter  of  little  feet. 
The  sound  of  a  door  that  is  opened, 

And  voices  soft  and  sweet. 


THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  133 

From  my  study  I  see  in  the  lamplight, 
Descending  the  hroad  hall  stair, 

Grave  Alice,  and  laughing  AUegra, 
And  Edith  with  golden  hair. 

A  whisper,  and  then  a  silence  : 
Yet  I  know  by  their  merry  eyes 

They  are  plotting  and  planning  together 
To  take  me  by  surprise. 

A  sudden  rush  from  the  stairway, 
A  sudden  raid  from  the  hall ! 

By  three  doors  left  unguarded 
They  enter  my  castle  w  all ! 

They  climb  up  into  my  turret 

O'er  the  arms  and  back  of  my  chair ; 

If  I  try  to  escape,  they  surround  me  : 
They  seem  to  be  everywhere. 

They  almost  devour  me  with  kisses, 
Their  arms  about  me  entwine, 

Till  I  think  of  the  Bishop  of  Bingen 
In  his  Mouse-Tower  on  the  Rhine  ! 

Do  you  think,  O  blue-eyed  banditti. 
Because  you  have  scaled  the  wall. 

Such  an  old  mustache  as  I  am 
Is  not  a  match  for  you  all ! 


134  THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS 

I  have  you  fost  in  my  fortress, 
And  will  not  let  you  depart, 

But  put  you  down  into  the  dungeon. 
In  the  round-tower  of  my  heart. 

And  there  will  I  keep  you  forever, 

Yes,  forever  and  a  day. 
Till  the  walls  shall  crumble  to  ruin. 

And  moulder  in  dust  away  ! 


THIRD  YEAR— ELECTIVE  POEMS  136 


MAY 

THE  GREENWOOD  TREE 

From  As  You  Like  It 
WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun 
And  loves  to  lie  i'  the  sun. 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats. 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ! 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 


136  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

THE  BROOK 

ALFRED,    LORD    TENNYSON 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern. 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down. 
Or  slip  between  the  ridges  ; 

By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town. 
And  half  a  hundred  bridges. 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river  ; 

For  men  may  come,  and  men  may  go. 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways. 
In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 

I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 
By  many  a  field  and  fallow. 

And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 
With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 


THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  137 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come,  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 

With  here  a  blossom  sailing. 
And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 

And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel. 
With  many  a  silvery  water-break 

Above  the  golden  gravel. 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river. 
For  men  may  come,  and  men  may  gOc 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers ; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows  ; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 


138  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars, 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses ; 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river ; 

For  men  may  come,  and  men  may  go. 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

PEBBLES 

FRANK  DEMPSTER  SHERMAN 

Out  of  a  pellucid  brook 
Pebbles  round  and  smooth  I  took : 
Like  a  jewel,  every  one 
Caught  a  color  from  the  sun,  — 
Ruby  red  and  sapphire  blue, 
Emerald  and  onyx  too, 
Diamond  and  amethyst,  — 
Not  a  precious  stone  I  missed : 
Gems  I  held  from  every  land 
In  the  hollow  of  my  hand. 
Workman  Water  these  had  made  ; 
Patiently  through  sun  and  shade, 
With  the  ripples  of  the  rill 
He  had  polished  them  until. 
Smooth,  symmetrical,  and  bright, 
Each  one  sparkling  in  the  light 


THIRD  YEAR  —  ELECTIVE  POEMS  139 

Showed  within  its  burning  heart 
All  the  lapidary's  art ; 
And  the  brook  seemed  thus  to  sing : 
Patience  conquers  everything  I 


140  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 


JUNE 

BEFORE   THE   RAIN 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

"We  knew  it  would  rain,  for  all  the  morn, 
A  spirit  on  slender  ropes  of  mist 

Was  lowering  its  golden  buckets  dowa 
Into  the  vapory  amethyst 

Of  marshes  and  swamps  and  dismal  fens  — 
Scooping  the  dew  that  lay  in  the  flowers, 

Dipping  the  jewels  out  of  the  sea, 

To  scatter  them  over  the  land  in  showers. 

We  knew   it  would   rain,  for   the  poplars 
showed 
The  white  of  their  leaves,  the  amber  grain 
Shrunk  in  the  wind  —  and   the   lightning 
now 
Is  tangled  in  tremulous  skeins  of  rain ! 


THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS  141, 

THE   RAINBOW  — A  RIDDLE 

FRIEDRICH    SCHILLER 

A  bridge  weaves  its  arch  with  pearls 

High  over  the  tranquil  sea ; 
In  a  moment  it  unfurls 

Its  span,  unbounded,  free. 
The  tallest  ship  with  swelling  sail 

May  pass  beneath  its  arch  with  ease ; 
It  carries  no  burden,  't  is  too  frail, 

And  with  your  quick  approach  it  flees. 
With  the  flood  it  comes,  with  the  rain  it 
goes ; 

What  it  is  made  of  nobody  knows. 

BUGLE   SONG 

From  The  Princess 
ALFRED,    LORD    TENNYSON 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls. 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story ; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  fly- 
ing : 
Blow,  bugle  ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying, 
dying. 


142  THIRD  YEAR  — ELECTIVE  POEMS 

O  hark,  O  hear  !  how  thin  and  clear, 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going ! 

O,  sweet  and  far  from  cliff  and  scar 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing  ! 

Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying, 

Blow,  bugle ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying, 
dying. 

O  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky. 

They  faint  on  hill,  or  field,  or  river : 

Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul. 
And  grow  for  ever  and  for  ever : 

Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 

And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying, 
dying. 


THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

AND   RHYMES 


THE  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER 

FRANCIS    SCOTT   KEY 

O  say,  can   you  see   by  the   dawn's  early 
light, 
What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twi- 
light's last  gleaming  — 

Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars,  through 
the  clouds  of  the  fight, 
O'er  the  ramparts  we  watched,  were  so 
gallantly  streaming  ! 

And  the  rocket's  red  glare,  the  bombs  burst- 
ing in  air. 

Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag 
was  still  there ; 

O !  say,  does  that  star-spangled  banner  yet 
wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of 
the  brave  ? 

On  that  shore,  dimly  seen  through  the  mists 
of  the  deep, 


144    THIRD  YEAR— SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

"Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread 

silence  reposes, 
What  is  that  which  the  breeze,  o'er  the 

towering  steep. 
As  it  fitfully  blows,  now  conceals,  now 

discloses  ? 
Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's 

first  beam. 
In  full  glory  reflected,  now  shines  in  the 

stream ; 
*T  is  the  star-spangled  banner  !    0  long  may 

it  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of 

the  brave. 

And  where  is  that  band  who  so  vauntingly 

swore. 
That  the  havoc  of  war  and  the  battle's 

confusion, 
A  home  and  a  country  should  leave  us  no 

more  ? 
Their  blood  has  washed   out   their  foul 

foot-steps'  pollution. 
No  refuge  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave 
From  the  terror  of  flight,  or  the  gloom  of 

the  grave ; 
And  the   star-spangled  banner  in  triumph 

doth  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of 

the  brave ! 


THIRD   YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS    145 

0  !  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall  stand 
Between  their  loved  homes  and  the  war's 

desolation ! 
Blest   with    victory   and   peace,   may    the 

heav'n-rescued  land 
Praise  the  Power  that   hath  made  and 

preserved  us  a  nation. 
Then  conquer  we  must,  when  our  cause  it 

is  just. 
And  this  be  our  motto :    ''hi  God  is  our 

trust ;  " 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph 

shall  wave 
0*er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of 

the  brave ! 


LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS 

FELICIA   D.    HEMANS 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 

And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 
Their  giant  branches  tossed  ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  Avild  New  England  shore. 


146    THIRD  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came ; 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame ; 

Not  as  the  flying  come. 

In  silence  and  in  fear  ;  — 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea ; 

And  the   sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods 
rang 
To  the  anthem  of  the  free  ! 

The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam ; 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared,  — 

This  was  their  welcome  home  ! 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band  ;  — 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land  ? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth  ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 


THIRD  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS     147 

What  sought  they  thus  afar  ? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine  ? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war  ?  — 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine  ! 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod : 

They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they 
found,  — 
Freedom  to  worship  God  ! 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG 

JOSEPH    RODMAN   DRAKE 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 
Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 

She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 

She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies. 

And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white 

With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 

Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 

She  called  her  eagle  bearer  drwn, 

And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 

The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 


148    THIRD  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

BATTLE-HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC 

JULIA   WARD    HOWE 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming 

of  the  Lord ; 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the 

grapes  of  wrath  are  stored, 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  His 

terrible  swift  sword ; 
His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hun- 
dred circling  camps  ; 

They    have    builded    Him   an  altar  in  the 
evening  dews  and  damps, 

I  can  read   His  righteous  sentence  by  the 
dim  and  flaring  lamps  ; 
His  day  is  marching  on. 


He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall 

never  call  retreat ; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before 

His  judgment-seat : 
Oh !    be  swift,  my    soul,  to  answer    Him  ! 

be  jubilant,  my  feet ! 
Our  God  is  marching  on. 


THIRD  YEAR— SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS    149 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born 

across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures 

you  and  me : 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to 

make  men  free, 
While  God  is  marching  on. 


OLD  IRONSIDES 

OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high. 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky  ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar  ;  — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe. 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 

And  waves  were  white  below. 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread. 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee  ;  — 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea  ! 


150    THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

Oh,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave  ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep. 

And  there  should  be  her  grave  ; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail. 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, 

The  lightning  and  the  gale ! 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  APENNINES 

PERCY   BYSSHE    SHELLEY 

Listen,  listen,  Mary  mine. 

To  the  whisper  of  the  Apennine, 

It  bursts  on   the   roof  like  the  thunder's 

roar, 
Or  like  the  sea  on  a  northern  shore, 
Heard  in  its  raging  ebb  and  flow 
By  the  captives  pent  in  the  cave  below. 
The  Apennine  in  the  light  of  day 
Is  a  mighty  mountain  dim  and  gray, 
Which    between   the    earth    and  sky  doth 

lay ; 
But  when  night  comes,  a  chaos  dread 
On  the  dim  starlight  then  is  spread. 
And  the  Apennine  walks  abroad  with  the 

storm. 


THIRD  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS     151 

DAYBREAK 

PERCY   BYSSHE    SHELLEY 

Day  had  awakened  all  things  that  he, 

The  lark,  and  the  thrush,  and  the  swallow 

free, 
And  the  milkmaid's  song,  and  the  mower's 

scythe, 
And  the  matin  bell  and  the  mountain  bee : 
Fireflies  were  quenched  on  the  dewy  corn, 
Glow-worms  went  out,  on  the  river's  brim, 
Like  lamps  which  a  student  forgets  to  trim  ; 
The  beetle  forgot  to  wind  his  horn, 
The  crickets  were  still  in  the  meadow  and 

hill: 
Like  a  flock  of  rooks  at  a  farmer's  gun. 
Night's  dreams  and  terrors,  every  one 
Fled  from  the  brains  which  are  its  prey. 
From  the  lamp's  death  to  the  morning  ray. 

A  SEA-SONG 

ALLAN   CUNNINGHAM 

A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea, 

A  wind  that  follows  fast. 
And  fills  the  white  and  rustling  sail, 

And  bends  the  gallant  mast ; 


152    THIRD  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

And  bends  the  gallant  mast,  my  boys. 

While,  like  the  eagle  free, 
Away  the  good  ship  flies,  and  leaves 

Old  England  on  the  lee. 

O  for  a  soft  and  gentle  wind ! 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry ; 
But  give  to  me  the  snoring  breeze, 

And  white  waves  heaving  high  ; 
And  white  waves  heaving  high,  my  lads, 

The  good  ship  tight  and  free  — 
The  world  of  waters  is  our  home, 

And  meiTy  men  are  we. 

There  's  tempest  in  yon  horned  moon, 

And  lightning  in  yon  cloud  ; 
And  hark  the  music,  mariners  ! 

The  wind  is  piping  loud ; 
The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys, 

The  lightning  flashes  free  — 
While  the  hollow  oak  our  palace  is, 

Our  heritage  the  sea. 

THE  FOUNTAIN 

JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL 

Into  the  sunshine, 

Full  of  the  light, 
Leaping  and  flashing 

From  morn  till  night ; 


THIRD  YEAR  —  SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS    153 

Into  the  moonliglit, 

Whiter  than  snow, 
Waving  so  flower-like 

When  the  winds  blow  i 

Into  the  starlight 

Rushing  in  spray, 
Happy  at  midnight, 

Happy  by  day ; 

Ever  in  motion. 

Blithesome  and  cheery. 

Still  climbing  heavenward. 
Never  aweary ; 

Glad  of  all  weathers, 

Still  seeming  best, 
Upward  or  downward. 

Motion  thy  rest ; 

Full  of  a  nature 

Nothing  can  tame, 
Changed  every  moment, 

Ever  the  same ; 

Ceaseless  aspiring, 

Ceaseless  content. 
Darkness  or  sunshine 

Thy  element ; 


154    THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

Glorious  fountain, 

Let  my  heart  be 
Fresh,  changeful,  constant, 

Upward,  like  thee ! 

IN  SCHOOL-DAYS 

JOHN    GREENLEAF   WHITTIER 

Still  sits  the  school-house  by  the  road, 
A  ragged  beggar  sleeping  ; 

Around  it  still  the  sumachs  grow. 
And  blackberry  yines  are  creeping. 

Within,  the  master's  desk  is  seen, 
Deep  scarred  by  raps  official ; 

The  warping  floor,  the  battered  seats, 
The  jack-knife's  carved  initial ; 

The  charcoal  frescoes  on  its  wall; 

Its  door's  worn  sill,  betraying 
The  feet  that,  creeping  slow  to  school. 

Went  storming  out  to  playing ! 

Long  years  ago  a  winter  sun 

Shone  over  it  at  setting ; 
Lit  up  its  western  window-panes. 

And  low  eaves'  icy  fretting. 


THIRD  YEAR— SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS    155 

It  touched  the  tangled  golden  curls 
And  brown  eyes  full  of  grieving, 

Of  one  who  still  her  steps  delayed 
When  all  the  school  were  leaving. 

For  near  her  stood  the  little  boy 

Her  childish  favor  singled : 
His  cap  pulled  low  upon  a  face 

Where  pride  and  shame  were  mingled. 

Pushing  with  restless  feet  the  snow 
To  right  and  left,  he  lingered ;  — 

As  restlessly  her  tiny  hands 

The  blue-checked  apron  fingered. 

He  saw  her  lift  her  eyes ;  he  felt 
The  soft  hand's  light  caressing, 

And  heard  the  tremble  of  her  voice, 
As  if  a  fault  confessing. 

**  I  'm  sorry  that  I  spelt  the  word : 
I  hate  to  go  above  you. 
Because,"  —  the  brown  eyes  lower  fell,— 
*'  Because,  you  see,  I  love  you  !  '* 

Still  memory  to  a  gray-haired  man 
That  sweet  child-face  is  showing. 

Dear  girl !  the  grasses  on  her  grave 
Have  forty  years  been  growing ! 


156    THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS 

He  lives  to  learn,  in  life's  hard  school, 
How  few  who  pass  above  him 

Lament  their  triumph  and  his  loss, 
Like  her,  —  because  they  love  him. 


BALLAD  OF  THE  TEMPEST 

JAMES   T.    FIELDS 

We  were  crowded  in  the  cabin, 
Not  a  soul  would  dare  to  sleep  — 

It  was  midnight  on  the  waters. 
And  a  storm  was  on  the  deep. 

*T  is  a  fearful  thing  in  winter 
To  be  shattered  by  the  blast. 

And  to  hear  the  rattling  trumpet 
Thunder,  "  Cut  away  the  mast !  " 

So  we  shuddered  there  in  silence,  — 
For  the  stoutest  held  his  breath, 

While  the  hungry  sea  was  roaring. 
And  the  breakers  talked  with  Death. 

As  thus  we  sat  in  darkness. 

Each  one  busy  with  his  prayers,  — 
*  We  are  lost !  "  the  captain  shouted. 
As  he  staggered  down  the  stairs. 


THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS    157 

But  his  little  daughter  whispered, 
As  she  took  his  icy  hand, 
**  Is  not  God  upon  the  ocean, 

Just  the  same  as  on  the  land  ?  " 

Then  we  kissed  the  little  maiden, 
And  we  spoke  in  better  cheer. 

And  we  anchored  safe  in  harbor 
When  the  moon  was  shining  clear. 

MY  JEAN 

ROBERT    BURNS 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 

1  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives. 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best. 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row. 

And  monie  a  hill  between, 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers  — 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair. 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds  — 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air. 
There  's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green ; 
There  s  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings. 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 


158    THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS 

THE  REVERIE  OF  POOR  SUSAN 

WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH 

At  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when  day- 
light appears, 

Hangs  a  thrush  that  sings  loud,  —  it  has  sung 
for  three  years ; 

Poor  Susan  has  passed  by  the  spot,  and  has 
heard 

In  the  silence  of  morning  the  song  of  the 
bird. 

T  is  a  note  of  enchantment ;  what  ails  her  ? 

She  sees 
A  mountain  ascending,  a  vision  of  trees  ; 
Bright  volumes  of  vapor  through  Lothbury 

glide, 
And  a  river  flows  on  through  the  vale  of 

Cheapside. 

Green  pastures  she  views  in  the  midst  of 

the  dale, 
Down  which  she  so  often  has  tripped  with 

her  pail. 
And    a  single  small  cottage,  a  nest  like  a 

dove's, 
The  one  only  dwelling  on  earth  that  she 

loves. 


THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS     159 

She  looks,  and  her  heart  is  in  heaven :  but 

they  fade, 
The  mist  and  the  river,  the  hill  and  the 

shade  : 
The  stream  will  not  flow,  and  the  hill  will 

not  rise, 
And  the  colors  have  all  passed  away  from 

her  eyes ! 


WINTER  AND  SPRING 

From  The  Song  of  Hiawatha 
HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

In  his  lodge  beside  a  river, 
Close  beside  a  frozen  river, 
Sat  an  old  man,  sad  and  lonely. 
White  his  hair  Avas  as  a  snow-drift ; 
Dull  and  low  his  fire  was  burning, 
And  the  old  man  shook  and  trembled, 
Folded  in  his  Waubewyon, 
In  his  tattered  white-skin-wrapper 
Hearing  nothing  but  the  tempest 
As  it  roared  along  the  forest, 
Seeing  nothing  but  the  snow-storm. 
As  it  whirled  and  hissed  and  drifted. 

All  the  coals  were  white  with  ashes, 
And  the  fire  was  slowly  dying. 
As  a  young  man,  walking  lightly, 


160    THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS 

At  the  open  doorway  entered. 
Red  with  blood  of  youth  his  cheeks  were, 
Soft  his  eyes,  as  stars  in  Spring-time, 
Bound  his  forehead  was  with  grasses  ; 
Bound  and  plumed  with  scented  grasses, 
On  his  lips  a  smile  of  beauty. 
Filling  all  the  lodge  with  sunshine. 
In  his  hand  a  bunch  of  blossoms 
Filling  all  the  lodge  with  sweetness. 

*'  Ah,  my  son !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
"  Happy  are  my  eyes  to  see  you. 
Sit  here  on  the  mat  beside  me, 
Sit  here  by  the  dying  embers. 
Let  us  pass  the  night  together. 
Tell  me  of  your  strange  adventures. 
Of  the  lands  where  you  have  travelled ; 
I  will  tell  you  of  my  prowess. 
Of  my  many  deeds  of  wonder." 

From  his  pouch  he  drew  his  peace-pipe. 
Very  old  and  strangely  fashioned  ; 
Made  of  red  stone  was  the  pipe-head, 
And  the  stem  a  reed  with  feathers ; 
Filled  the  pipe  with  bark  of  willow, 
Placed  a  burning  coal  upon  it. 
Gave  it  to  the  guest,  the  stranger, 
And  began  to  speak  in  this  wise : 

"  When  I  blow  my  breath  about  me. 
When  I  breathe  upon  the  landscape. 
Motionless  are  all  the  rivers, 
Hard  as  stone  becomes  the  water ! " 


THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY  POEMS    161 

And   the   young   man   answered,    smil- 
ing: 
"  When  I  blow  my  breath  about  me, 
When  I  breathe  upon  the  landscape, 
Flowers  spring  up  o'er  all  the  meadows. 
Singing,  onward  rush  the  rivers  !  " 

"  When  I  shake  my  hoary  tresses,** 
Said  the  old  man  darkly  froAvning, 
'•  All  the  land  Avith  snow  is  covered  ; 
All  the  leaves  from  all  the  branches 
Fall  and  fade  and  die  and  wither, 
For  I  breathe,  and  lo !  they  are  not. 
From  the  waters  and  the  marshes 
Rise  the  wild  goose  and  the  heron, 
Fly  away  to  distant  regions, 
For  I  speak,  and  lo  !  they  are  not. 
And  where'er  my  footsteps  wander, 
All  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest 
Hide  themselves  in  holes  and  caverns. 
And  the  earth  becomes  as  flintstone !  *' 

"  When  I  shake  my  flowing  ringlets,** 
Said  the  young  man,  softly  laughing, 
"■  Showers  of  rain  fall  warm  and  welcome. 
Plants  lift  up  their  heads  rejoicing, 
Back  unto  their  lakes  and  marshes 
Come  the  wild  goose  and  the  heron, 
Homeward  shoots  the  arrowy  swallow, 
Sing  the  bluebird  and  the  robin, 
And  where'er  my  footsteps  wander. 
All  the  meadows  wave  with  blossoms. 


162    THIRD  YEAR  — SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS 

All  the  woodlands  ring  with  music, 
All  the  trees  are  dark  with  foliage !  " 

While  they  spake,  the  night  departed : 
From  the  distant  realms  of  Wabun, 
From  his  shining  lodge  of  silver, 
Like  a  w  arrior  robed  and  painted. 
Came  the  sun,  and  said,  **  Behold  me ! 
Gheezis,  the  great  sun,  behold  me !  " 

Then  the  old  man's  tongue  was  speech^ 
less 
And  the  air  grew  warm  and  pleasant, 
And  upon  the  wigwam  sweetly 
Sang  the  bluebird  and  the  robin. 
And  the  stream  began  to  murmur, 
And  a  scent  of  growing  grasses 
Through  the  lodge  was  gently  wafted. 

And  Segwun,  the  youthful  stranger, 
More  distinctly  in  the  daylight 
Saw  the  icy  face  before  him  ; 
It  was  Peboan,  the  Winter  ! 

From  his  eyes  the  tears  w^ere  flowing, 
As  from  melting  lakes  the  streamlets, 
And  his  body  shrunk  and  dwindled 
As  the  shouting  sun  ascended. 
Till  into  the  air  it  faded. 
Till  into  the  ground  it  vanished. 
And  the  young  man  saw  before  him. 
On  the  hearth-stone  of  the  wigwam. 
Where  the  fire  had  smoked  and  smouldered, 
Saw  the  earliest  flower  of  Spring-time, 


THIRD  YEAR— SUPPLEMENTARY   POEMS    163 

Saw  the  Beauty  of  the  Spring-time, 
Saw  the  Miskodeed  in  blossom. 

Thus  it  was  that  in  the  North-land 
After  that  unheard-of  coldness, 
That  intolerable  Winter, 
Came  the  Spring  with  all  its  splendor. 
All  its  birds  and  all  its  blossoms, 
All  its  flowers  and  leaves  and  grasses. 


LONGER  POEMS  FOR  SUPPLEMENTARY 

READING 

FIRST  YEAR 


WYNKEN,   BLYNKEN,   AND  NOD 

EUGENE    FIELD 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod  one  night 

Sailed  off  in  a  wooden  shoe  — 
Sailed  on  a  river  of  crystal  light, 
Into  a  sea  of  dew. 
**  Where  are  you  going,  and  what  do  you  wish?' 

The  old  moon  asked  the  three. 
**  We  have  come  to  fish  for  the  herring  fish 
That  live  in  the  beautiful  sea ; 
Nets  of  silver  and  gold  have  we  ! " 
Said  Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

The  old  moon  laughed  and  sang  a  song, 
As  they  rocked  in  the  wooden  shoe, 

And  the  wind  that  sped  them  all  night  long 
Ruffled  the  waves  of  dew. 


FIRST  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  165 

The  little  stars  were  the  herring  fish 
That  lived  in  that  beautiful  sea  — 
"  Now  cast  your  nets  wherever  you  wish  — 
Never  afeard  are  we  ;  " 
So  cried  the  stars  to  the  fishermen  three : 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

All  night  long  their  nets  they  threw 

To  the  stars  in  the  twinkling  foam  — 
Then  down  from  the  skies  came  the  wooden  shoe, 

Bringing  the  fishermen  home  ; 
*T  was  all  so  pretty  a  sail  it  seemed 

As  if  it  could  not  be, 
And  some  folks  thought  't  was    a  dream   they  'd 
dreamed 
Of  sailing  that  beautiful  sea  — 
But  I  shall  name  you  the  fishermen  three : 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

Wynken  and  Blynken  are  two  little  eyes, 

And  Nod  is  a  little  head. 
And  the  wooden  shoe  that  sailed  the  skies 

Is  a  wee  one's  trundle-bed. 
So  shut  your  eyes  while  mother  sings 

Of  wonderful  sights  that  be, 
And  you  shall  see  the  beautiful  things 


166  FIRST  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS 

As  you  rock  in  the  misty  sea, 

Where  the  old  shoe  rocked  the  fishermen  three: 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 

THE  OWL  AND  THE  PUSSY-CAT 

EDWARD    LEAR 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat  went  to  sea 

In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat ; 
They  took  some  honey,  and  plenty  of  money 

Wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note. 
Tlie  Owl  looked  up  to  the  moon  above, 

And  sang  to  a  small  guitar, 
'^'  0  lovely  Pussy  !  0  Pussy,  my  love  ! 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are, — 
You  are, 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are 


>» 


Pussy  said  to  the  Owl,  "  You  elegant  fowl ! 

How  wonderful  sweet  you  sing ! 
0  let  us  be  married,  —  too  long  we  have  tarried. 

But  what  shall  we  do  for  a  ring  ?  " 
They  sailed  away  for  a  year  and  a  day 

To  the  land  where  the  Bong-tree  grows, 
And  there  in  a  wood,  a  piggy-wig  stood 

With  a  ring  in  the  end  of  his  nose,  — 
His  nose, 

With  a  ring  in  the  end  of  his  nose. 


FIRST  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  167 

•'  Dear  Pig,  are  you  willing  to  sell  for  one  shilling 

Your  ring  ?  "    Said  the  Piggy,  "  I  will." 
So  they  took  it  away,  and  were  married  next  day 

By  the  turkey  who  lives  on  the  hill. 
They  dined  upon  mince  and  slices  of  quince, 

Which  they  ate  with  a  runcible  spoon, 
And  hand  in  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  sand 

They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  — 
The  moon, 

They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

A  VISIT   FROM   ST.    NICHOLAS 

CLEMENT    C.    MOORE 

'T  was  the  night  before  Christmas,  when  all  through 

the  house 
Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse. 
The  stockings  were  hung  by  the  chimney  with  care, 
In  hopes  that  St.  Nicholas  soon  would  be  there. 
The  children  were  nestled  all  snug  in  their  beds. 
While  visions  of  sugar-plums  danced  in  their  heads  ; 
And  mamma  in  her  kerchief,  and  I  in  my  cap. 
Had  just  settled  our  brains  for  a  long  winter's  nap  — 
When  out  on  the  lawn  there  arose  such  a  clattpr, 
I  sprang  from  my  bed  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
Away  to  the  window  I  flew  like  a  flash, 
Tore  open  the  shutters,  and  threw  up  the  sash ; 
The  moon  on  the  breast  of  the  new-fallen  snow 
Gave  a  lustre  of  mid-day  to  objects  below ; 


168  FIRST  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS 

When,  what  to  my  wondering  eyes  should  appear, 
But  a  miniature  sleigh  and  eight  tiny  reindeer, 
With  a  little  old  driver,  so  Hvely  and  quick, 
I  knew  in  a  moment  it  must  be  St.  Nick. 
More  rapid  than  eagles  his  coursers  they  came, 
And  he  whistled,  and  shouted,  and  called  them  by 

name : 
"  Now,  Dasher !   now,  Dancer !   now,  Prancer  and 

Vixen  ! 
On,  Comet !  on,  Cupid  !  on,  Donder  and  Blitzen  !  — 
To  the  top  of  the  porch,  to  the  top  of  the  wall. 
Now,  dash  away,  dash  away,  dash  away  all ! " 
As  dry  leaves  that  before  the  wild  hurricane  fly. 
When  they  meet  with  an  obstacle,  mount  to  the  sky. 
So,  up  to  the  housetop  the  coursers  they  flew. 
With  a  sleigh  full  of  toys  —  and  St.  Nicholas  too. 
And  then,  in  a  twinkling,  I  heard  on  the  roof 
The  prancing  and  pawing  of  each  little  hoof. 
As  I  drew  in  my  head  and  was  turning  around, 
Down  the  chimney  St.  Nicholas  came  with  a  bound ; 
He  was  dressed  all  in  fur  from  his  head  to  his  foot. 
And  his  clothes  were  all  tarnished  with  ashes  and 

soot : 
A  bundle  of  toys  he  had  flung  on  his  back, 
And  he  looked  like  a  peddler  just  opening  his  pack. 
His   eyes,  how   they   twinkled  !    his   dimples,   how 

merry ! 
His  cheeks  were  like  roses,  his  nose  like  a  cherry ; 
His  droll  little  mouth  was  drawn  up  like  a  bow. 
And  the  beard  on  his  chin  was  as  white  as  the  snow. 


FIRST  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  169 

The  stump  of  a  pipe  he  held  tight  in  his  teeth, 
And  the  smoke,  it  encircled  his  head  like  a  wreath. 
He  had  a  broad  face,  and  a  Httle  round  belly 
That  shook  when  he  laughed,  like  a  bowl  full  of 

jelly. 

He  was  chubby  and  plump  —  a  right  jolly  old  elf ; 
And  I  laughed  when  I  saw  him,  in  spite  of  myself. 
A  wink  of  his  eye,  and  a  twist  of  his  head, 
Soon  gave  me  to  know  I  had  nothing  to  dread. 
He  spoke  not  a  word,  but  went  straight  to  his  work. 
And  filled  all  the  stockings :    then  turned  with  a 

jerk, 
And  laying  his  finger  aside  of  his  nose. 
And  giving  a  nod,  up  the  chimney  he  rose. 
He  sprang  to  his  sleigh,  to  his  team  gave  a  whistle, 
And  away  they  all  flew  like  the  down  of  a  thistle. 
But  I  heard  him  exclaim,  ere  they  drove  out  of  sight, 
"  Happy  Christmas  to  all,  and  to  all  a  good-night ! " 


SECOND  YEAR 


PICCOLA 

CELIA    THAXTER 

Poor,  sweet  Piccola  !     Did  you  hear 
What  happened  to  Piccola,  children  dear? 
'T  is  seldom  Fortune  such  favor  grants 
As  fell  to  this  little  maid  of  France. 

'T  was  Christmas-time,  and  her  parents  poor 
Could  hardly  drive  the  wolf  from  the  door, 
Striving  with  poverty's  patient  pain 
Only  to  live  till  summer  again. 

No  gifts  for  Piccola  !     Sad  were  they 
When  dawned  the  morning  of  Christmas-day; 
Their  little  darling  no  joy  might  stir, 
St.  Nicholas  nothing  would  bring  to  her ! 

But  Piccola  never  doubted  at  all 
That  something  beautiful  must  befall 
Every  child  upon  Christmas-day, 
And  so  she  slept  till  the  dawn  was  gray. 


SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  171 

And  full  of  faith,  when  at  last  she  woke, 
She  stole  to  her  shoe  as  the  morning  broke ; 
Such  sounds  of  gladness  filled  the  air, 
'T  was  plain  St.  Nicholas  had  been  there ! 

In  rushed  Piccola  sweet,  half  wild : 
Never  was  seen  such  a  joyful  child. 
"  See  what  the  good  saint  brought !  "  she  cried, 
And  mother  and  father  must  peep  inside. 

Now  such  a  story  who  ever  heard  ? 
There  was  a  little  shivering  bird  ! 
A  sparrow,  that  in  at  the  window  flew, 
Had  crept  into  Piccola's  tiny  shoe ! 

"  How  good  poor  Piccola  must  have  been  I  " 
She  cried,  as  happy  as  any  queen, 
While  the  starving  sparrow  she  fed  and  warmed, 
And  danced  with  rapture,  she  was  so  charmed. 

Children,  this  story  I  tell  to  you. 
Of  Piccola  sweet  and  her  bird,  is  true. 
In  the  far-off  land  of  France,  they  say, 
Still  do  they  live  to  this  very  day. 


172  SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 


NIKOLINA 

CELIA    THAXTER 

Oh,  tell  me,  little  children,  have  you  seen  her  — 
The  tiny  maid  from  Norway,  Nikoiina? 
Oil,  her  eyes  are  blue  as  corn-flowers  'mid  the  corn» 
And  her  cheeks  are  rosy  red  as  skies  of  morn  ! 

Oh,  buy  the  baby's  blossoms  if  you  meet  her, 
And  stay  with  gentle  words  and  looks  to  greet  her ; 
She  '11  gaze  at  you  and  smile  and  clasp  your  hand, 
But  no  word  of  your  speech  can  understand. 

Nikoiina  !  Swift  she  turns  if  any  call  her, 

As  she  stands  among  the  poppies  hardly  taller, 

Breaking  off  their  scarlet  cups  for  you. 

With  spikes  of  slender  larkspur,  brightly  blue. 

In  her  little  garden  many  a  flower  is  growing  — 
Red,  gold,  and  purple  in  the  soft  wind  blowing ; 
But  the  child  that  stands  amid  the  blossoms  gay 
Is  sweeter,  quainter,  brighter  even  than  they. 

Oh,  tell  me,  little  children,  have  you  seen  her — - 
This  baby  girl  from  Norway,  Nikoiina  ? 
Slowly  she  's  learning  Enghsh  words,  to  try 
And  thank  you  if  her  flowers  you  come  to  buy. 


SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  173 

LITTLE   GUSTAVA 

CELIA    THAXTER 

Little  Gustava  sits  in  the  sun, 
Safe  in  the  porch,  and  the  httle  drops  run 
From  the  icicles  under  the  eaves  so  fast, 
For  the  bright  spring  sun  shines  warm  at  last^ 
And  glad  is  little  Gustava. 

She  wears  a  quaint  little  scarlet  cap, 
And  a  little  green  bowl  she  holds  in  her  lap, 
Filled  with  bread  and  milk  to  the  brim, 
And  a  wreath  of  marigolds  round  the  rim: 
"  Ha,  ha  !  "  laughs  little  Gustava. 

Up  comes  her  little  gray,  coaxing  cat, 

With  her  little  pink  nose,  and  she  mews,  "  What  'ft 

that?" 
Gustava  feeds  her,  —  she  begs  for  more ; 
And  a  little  brown  hen  walks  in  at  the  door ; 
"  Good-day  1 "  cries  Httle  Gustava. 

She  scatters  crumbs  for  the  little  brown  hen. 
There  comes  a  rush  and  a  flutter,  and  then 
Down  fly  her  little  white  doves  so  sweet. 
With  their  snowy  wings  and  their  crimson  feet: 
"  Welcome  !  "  cries  Httle  Gustava. 


174  SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

So  dainty  and  eager  they  pick  up  the  crumbs! 
But  who  is  this  through  the  doorway  comes? 
Little  Scotch  terrier,  little  dog  Rags, 
Looks  in  her  face,  and  his  funny  tail  wags ; 
"  Ha,  ha !  "  laughs  little  Gustava. 

"  You  want  some  breakfast,  too  ?  "  and  down 
She  sets  her  bowl  on  the  brick  floor  brown ; 
And  little  dog  Rags  drinks  up  her  milk, 
While  she  strokes  his  shaggy  locks,  hke  silk : 
"  Dear  Rags  !  "  says  little  Gustava. 

Waiting  without  stood  sparrow  and  crow, 
Cooling  their  feet  in  the  melting  snow : 
*'  Won't  you  come  in,  good  folk  ?  "  she  cried. 
But  they  were  too  bashful,  and  stayed  outside. 
Though  "  Pray  come  in  !  "  cried  Gustava. 

So  the  last  she  threw  them,  and  knelt  on  the  mat 
With  doves  and  biddy  and  dog  and  cat. 
And  her  mother  came  to  the  open  house-door : 
*'  Dear  little  daughter,  I  bring  you  some  more. 
My  merry  little  Gustava  !  " 

Kitty  and  terrier,  biddy  and  doves, 
All  things  harmless  Gustava  loves. 
The  shy,  kind  creatures  't  is  joy  to  feed, 
And  oh,  her  breakfast  is  sweet  indeed 
To  happy  little  Gustava ! 


SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  176 

SUMMER  WOODS 

MARY    HOWITT 

Come  ye  into  the  summer  woods ; 

There  entereth  no  annoy ; 
All  greenly  wave  the  chestnut  leaves, 

And  the  earth  is  full  of  joy. 

I  cannot  tell  you  half  the  sights 

Of  beauty  you  may  see,  — 
The  bursts  of  golden  sunshine, 

And  many  a  shady  tree. 

There,  lightly  swung  in  bowery  glades. 

The  honeysuckles  twine  ; 
There  blooms  the  rose-red  campion, 

And  the  dark-blue  columbine. 

There  grows  the  four-leaved  plant,  "  true-love,** 

In  some  dusk  woodland  spot ; 
There  grows  the  enchanter's  night-shade. 

And  the  wood  forget-me-not. 

And  many  a  merry  bird  is  there, 

Unscared  by  lawless  men ; 
The  blue-winged  jay,  the  woodpecker, 

And  the  golden-crested  wren. 


176  SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Come  down,  and  ye  shall  see  them  all, 

The  timid  and  the  bold ; 
For  their  sweet  Hfe  of  pleasantness, 

It  is  not  to  be  told. 

And  far  within  that  summer  wood, 
Among  the  leaves  so  green, 

There  flows  a  little  gurgling  brook, 
The  brightest  e'er  was  seen. 

There  come  the  little  gentle  birds, 

Without  a  fear  of  ill, 
Down  to  the  murmuring  water's  edge, 

And  freely  drink  their  fill. 

And  dash  about  and  splash  about. 

The  merry  little  things ; 
And  look  askance  with  bright  black  eyes, 

And  flirt  their  dripping  wings. 

I  Ve  seen  the  freakish  squirrels  drop 

Down  from  their  leafy  tree, 
The  little  squirrels  with  the  old,  — 

Great  joy  it  was  to  me ! 

And  down  into  the  running  brook, 

I  Ve  seen  them  nimbly  go  ; 
And  the  bright  water  seemed  to  speak 

A  welcome  kind  and  low. 


SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS    177 

The  nodding  plants  they  bowed  their  heads 

As  if  in  heartsome  cheer : 
They  spake  unto  these  little  things, 

"  *T  is  merry  living  here!  " 

Oh,  how  my  heart  ran  o'er  with  joy ! 

I  saw  that  all  was  good, 
And  how  we  might  glean  up  delight 

All  round  us,  if  we  would  ! 

And  many  a  wood-mouse  dwelleth  there, 

Beneath  the  old  wood  shade, 
And  all  day  long  has  work  to  do. 

Nor  is  of  auor;ht  afraid. 

The  green  shoots  grow  above  their  heads, 

And  roots  so  fresh  and  fine 
Beneath  their  feet;  nor  is  there  strife 

'Mono;  men  for  mi7ie  and  thine. 

There  is  enough  for  every  one, 

And  they  lovingly  agree  ; 
We  might  learn  a  lesson,  all  of  us, 

Beneath  the  greenwood  tree. 


178  SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

THE  FAIRIES  OF  THE  CALDON-LOW 

MARY   HOWITT 

"  And  where  have  you  been,  my  Mary, 
And  where  have  you  been  from  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  to  the  top  of  the  Caldon-Low, 
The  midsummer  nio;-ht  to  see  !  " 


"■ts 


"  And  what  did  you  see,  my  Mary, 
All  up  on  the  Caldon-Low  ?  " 

*^  I  saw  the  blithe  sunshine  come  down, 
And  I  saw  the  merry  winds  blow." 

"  And  what  did  you  hear,  my  Mary, 
All  up  on  the  Caldon-Hill  ?  " 

"  I  heard  the  drops  of  the  water  made, 
And  the  ears  of  the  green  corn  fill.' 

*'  Oh,  tell  me  all,  my  Mary,  — 
All,  all  that  ever  you  know; 
For  you  must  have  seen  the  fairies. 
Last  night  on  the  Caldon-Low." 


tt 


*'  Then  take  me  on  your  knee,  mother ; 
And  listen,  mother  of  mine : 
A  hundred  fairies  danced  last  night, 
And  the  harpers  they  were  nine. 


SECOND  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  179 

**  And  their  harp  strings  rung  so  merrily 
To  their  dancing  feet  so  small : 
But  oh,  the  words  of  their  talking 
Were  merrier  far  than  all." 

**  And  what  were  the  words,  my  Mary, 
That  then  you  heard  them  say?" 

"  I  '11  tell  you  all,  my  mother ; 
But  let  me  have  my  way. 

**  Some  of  them  played  with  the  water, 

And  rolled  it  down  the  hill ; 
*  And  this,'  they  said,  *  shall  speedily  turn 
The  poor  old  miller's  mill ; 

**  *  For  there  has  been  no  water 
Ever  since  the  first  of  May ; 
And  a  busy  man  will  the  miller  be 
At  dawning  of  the  day. 

** '  Oh,  the  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 
When  he  sees  the  mill-dam  rise ! 
The  jolly  old  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 
Till  the  tears  fill  both  his  eyes  !  ' 

**  And  some  they  seized  the  little  winds 
That  sounded  over  the  hill ; 
And  each  put  a  horn  into  his  mouth, 
And  blew  both  loud  and  shrill. 


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Ajid,  sore  eiioiivh,  mve  ae^ 

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THIRD  YEAR 


PAUL  EEVERE'S  RIDE 

HEinRY    WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-five ; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

He  said  to  his  friend,  "  If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night. 
Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry  arch 
Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light,  — 
One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea ; 
And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be. 
Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 
Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 
For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm.' 


>> 


Then  he  said,  "  Good-night !  "  and  with  muffled  oai 
Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore. 
Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay, 
Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 
The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war; 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  183 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 
Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar, 
And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 
By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street, 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears, 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack  door. 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers, 
Marchins:  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

Then  he  climbed  the  tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 

By  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread. 

To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead. 

And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 

On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 

Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade,  — 

By  the  trembling  ladder,  steep  and  tall, 

To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall. 

Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 

A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town. 

And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 

Beneath,  in  the  churchyard,  lay  the  dead, 
In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill. 
Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still 
That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread, 
The  watchful  night- wind,  as  it  went 
Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent. 


184  THIRD  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS 

And  seeming  to  whisper,  "  All  is  well !  " 

A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 

Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  the  secret  dread 

Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead ; 

For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 

On  a  shadowy  something  far  away, 

Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay, — 

A  line  of  black  that  bends  and  floats 

On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride. 
Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride 
On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 
Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side. 
Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near, 
Then,  impetuous,  stamped  the  earth. 
And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth ; 
But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry-tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill. 
Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  still. 
And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light ! 
He  springs  to  his  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns ! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 
A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark. 
And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spa^i 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet : 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  185 

That  was  all !    And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the 

light, 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 
And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his  flight, 
Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

He  has  left  the  village  and  mounted  the  steep, 
And  beneath  him,  tranquil  and  broad  and  deep, 
Is  the  Mystic,  meeting  the  ocean  tides ; 
And  under  the  alders  that  skirt  its  edge. 
Now  soft  on  the  sand,  now  loud  on  the  ledge. 
Is  heard  the  tramp  of  his  steed  as  he  rides. 

It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock. 

When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford  town. 

He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 

And  the  barking  of  the  farmer's  dog. 

And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river  fog. 

That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 

It  was  one  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weather-cock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed, 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare) 

Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare. 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

It  was  two  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  came  to  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 


186  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 
And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 
And  felt  the  breath  of  the  mornino;  breeze 
Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 
And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 
Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 
Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 
Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 

You  know  the  rest.     In  the  books  you  have  read, 
How  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled, — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball. 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farm-yard  wall. 
Chasing  the  red-coats  down  the  lane. 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road. 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere ; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm,  — 

A  cry  of  defiance  and  not  of  fear, 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door. 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  forevermore  ! 

For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 

Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last. 

In  the  hour  of  darkness  and  peril  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof-beats  of  that  steed. 

And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  187 

THE   PELL   OF   ATRI 

HENRY    WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 

At  Atri  in  Abruzzo,  a  small  town 

Of  ancient  Roman  date,  but  scant  renown, 

One  of  those  little  places  that  have  run 

Half  up  the  hill,  beneath  a  blazing  sun, 

And  then  sat  down  to  rest,  as  if  to  say, 

"  I  climb  no  farther  upward,  come  what  may,"— 

The  Re  Giovanni,  now  unknown  to  fame. 

So  many  monarchs  since  have  borne  the  name. 

Had  a  great  bell  hung  in  the  market-place 

Beneath  a  roof,  projecting  some  small  space> 

By  way  of  shelter  from  the  sun  and  rain. 

Then  rode  he  through  the  streets  with  all  his  train, 

And,  with  the  blast  of  trumpets  loud  and  long. 

Made  proclamation,  that  whenever  wrong 

Was  done  to  any  man,  he  should  but  ring 

The  great  bell  in  the  square,  and  he,  the  King, 

Would  cause  the  Syndic  to  decide  thereon. 

Such  was  the  proclamation  of  King  John. 

How  swift  the  happy  days  in  Atri  sped, 

What  wrongs  were  righted,  need  not  here  be  said 

Suffice  it  that,  as  all  things  must  decay. 

The  hempen  rope  at  length  was  worn  away, 

Unravelled  at  the  end,  and,  strand  by  strand, 

Loosened  and  wasted  in  the  ringer's  !iand. 


188     THIRD  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS 

Till  one,  who  noted  this  in  passing  by, 
Mended  the  rope  with  braids  of  briony. 
So  that  the  leaves  and  tendrils  of  the  vine 
Hung  like  a  votive  garland  at  a  shrine. 

By  chance  it  happened  that  in  Atri  dwelt 
A  knight,  with  spur  on  heel  and  sword  in  belt. 
Who  loved  to  hunt  the  wild-boar  in  the  woods. 
Who  loved  his  falcons  with  their  crimson  hoods, 
Who  loved  his  hounds  and  horses,  and  all  sports 
And  prodigalities  of  camps  and  courts ;  — 
Loved,  or  had  loved  them ;  for  at  last,  grown  old, 
His  only  passion  was  the  love  of  gold. 

He  sold  his  horses,  sold  his  hawks  and  hounds. 
Rented  his  vineyards  and  his  garden-grounds, 
Kept  but  one  steed,  his  favorite  steed  of  all. 
To  starve  and  shiver  in  a  naked  stall. 
And  day  by  day  sat  brooding  in  his  chair. 
Devising  plans  how  best  to  hoard  and  spare. 

At  length  he  said :  "  What  is  the  use  or  need 
To  keep  at  my  own  cost  this  lazy  steed. 
Eating  his  head  off  in  my  stables  here. 
When  rents  are  low  and  provender  is  dear  ? 
Let  him  go  feed  upon  the  public  ways ; 
I  want  him  only  for  the  holidays." 
So  the  old  steed  was  turned  into  the  heat 
Of  the  long,  lonely,  silent,  shadeless  street ; 
And  wandered  in  suburban  lanes  forlorn. 
Barked  at  by  dogs,  and  torn  by  brier  and  thorn. 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  189 

One  afternoon,  as  in  that  sultry  clime 

It  is  the  custom  in  the  summer  time, 

With  bolted  doors  and  window-shutters  closed, 

The  inhabitants  of  Atri  slept  or  dozed ; 

When  suddenly  upon  their  senses  fell 

The  loud  alarum  of  the  accusing  bell ! 

The  Syndic  started  from  his  deep  repose. 

Turned  on  his  couch,  and  listened,  and  then  rose 

And  donned  his  robes,  and  with  reluctant  pace 

Went  panting  forth  into  the  market-place, 

Where  the  great  bell  upon  its  cross-beam  swung 

Reiterating  with  persistent  tongue, 

In  half -articulate  jargon,  the  old  song  : 

"  Some  one  hath  done  a  wrong,  hath  done  a  wrong!  " 

But  ere  he  reached  the  belfry's  light  arcade 
He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  beneath  its  shade, 
No  shape  of  human  form  of  woman  born, 
But  a  poor  steed  dejected  and  forlorn. 
Who  with  uplifted  head  and  eager  eye 
Was  tugging  at  the  vines  of  briony. 
"  Domeneddio  !  "  cried  the  Syndic  straight, 
"  This  is  the  Knig^ht  of  Atri's  steed  of  state  ! 
He  calls  for  justice,  being  sore  distressed. 
And  pleads  his  cause  as  loudly  as  the  best." 

Meanwhile  from  street  and  lane  a  noisy  crowd 
Had  rolled  too^ether  like  a  summer  cloud. 
And  told  the  story  of  the  wretched  beast 
In  five-and- twenty  different  ways  at  least, 


190  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

With  much  gesticulation  and  appeal 

To  heathen  gods,  in  their  excessive  zeal. 

The  Knight  was  called  and  questioned ;  in  reply 

Did  not  confess  the  fact,  did  not  deny ; 

Treated  the  matter  as  a  pleasant  jest, 

And  set  at  naught  the  Syndic  and  the  rest, 

Maintaining,  in  an  angry  undertone. 

That  he  should  do  what  pleased  him  with  his  own 

And  thereupon  the  Syndic  gravely  read 

The  proclamation  of  the  King ;  then  said : 

"  Pride  goeth  forth  on  horseback  grand  and  gay, 

But  Cometh  back  on  foot,  and  begs  its  way ; 

Fame  is  the  fragrance  of  heroic  deeds. 

Of  flowers  of  chivalry  and  not  of  weeds ! 

These  are  familiar  proverbs ;  but  I  fear 

They  never  yet  have  reached  your  knightly  ear. 

What  fair  renown,  what  honor,  what  repute 

Can  come  to  you  from  starving  this  poor  brute  ? 

He  who  serves  well  and  speaks  not,  merits  more 

Than  they  who  clamor  loudest  at  the  door. 

Tlierefore  the  law  decrees  that  as  this  steed 

Served  you  in  youth,  henceforth  you  shall  take  heed 

To  comfort  his  old  age,  and  to  provide 

Shelter  in  stall,  and  food  and  field  beside." 

The  Knight  withdrew  abashed ;  the  people  all 
Led  home  the  steed  in  triumph  to  his  stall. 
The  King  heard  and  approved,  and  laughed  in  gle^ 
And  cried  aloud  :  "  Right  well  it  pleaseth  me  ] 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  191 

Church-bells  at  best  but  rmg  us  to  the  door ; 
But  go  not  in  to  mass ;  my  bell  doth  more : 
It  Cometh  into  court  and  pleads  the  cause 
0£  creatures  dumb  and  unknown  to  the  laws ; 
And  this  shall  make,  in  every  Christian  cHme, 
The  Bell  of  Atri  famous  for  all  time." 


A  CHRISTMAS   CAROL 

JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL 

What  means  this  glory  round  our  feet," 

The  Magi  mused,  "  more  bright  than  morn  ? 

And  voices  chanted  clear  and  sweet, 

"  To-day  the  Prince  of  Peace  was  born." 

"  What  means  that  star,"  the  Shepherds  said, 
"  That  brightens  through  the  rocky  glen  ?  '* 
And  angels  answering  overhead. 

Sang,  "  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men. 


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All  round  about  our  feet  shall  shine 
A  light  like  that  the  wise  men  saw ; 

If  we  our  willing  hearts  incline 

To  that  sweet  Life  which  is  the  Law. 

So  shall  we  learn  to  understand 

The  simple  faith  of  shepherds  then, 

And,  clasping  kindly  hand  in  hand, 

Sing,  "  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men. 


192  THIRD  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS 

And  they  who  do  their  souls  no  wrong, 
But  keep  at  eve  the  faith  of  morn, 

Shall  daily  hear  the  angel-song 

"  To-day  the  Prince  of  Peace  is  born." 

O  LITTLE  TOWN   OF  BETHLEHEM 

PHILLIPS    BROOKS 

0  little  town  of  Bethlehem, 

How  still  we  see  thee  lie ! 
Above  thy  deep  and  dreamless  sleep 

The  silent  stars  go  by  ; 
Yet  in  thy  dark  streets  shineth 

The  everlasting  Light ; 
The  hopes  and  fears  of  all  the  years 

Are  met  in  thee  to-night. 

For  Christ  is  born  of  Mary, 

And,  gathered  all  above. 
While  mortals  sleep,  the  angels  keep 

Their  watch  of  wonderino-  love. 
0  morning  stars,  together 

Proclaim  the  holy  birth  ! 
And  praises  sing  to  God  the  King, 

And  peace  to  men  on  earth. 

How  silently,  how  silently, 
The  wondrous  gift  is  given  ! 

So  God  imparts  to  human  hearts 
The  blessings  of  His  heaven. 


THIRD  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS  193 

No  ear  may  hear  His  coming, 

But  in  this  world  of  sin, 
Where  meek  souls  will  receive  Him  still, 

The  dear  Christ  enters  in. 

O  holy  Child  of  Bethlehem  ! 

Descend  to  us,  we  pray ; 
Cast  out  our  sin,  and  enter  in, 

Be  born  in  us  to-day. 
We  hear  the  Christmas  angels 

The  great  glad  tidings  tell ; 
Oh,  come  to  us,  abide  with  us, 

Our  Lord  Emmanuel ! 


ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN 

WILLIAM    CULLEN    BRYANT 

Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed. 

Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers, 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  drest. 

Wearing  a  bright,  black  wedding-coat; 


194  THIRD   YEAR  — LONGER   POEMS 

White  are  his  shoulders,  and  white  his  crest. 
Hear  him  call  his  merry  note  : 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Look,  what  a  nice,  new  coat  is  mine, 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life. 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Brood,  kind  creature  ;  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  here. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she  ; 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note. 
Braggart,  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man. 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can  ! 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay. 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight ! 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  195 

There  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might : 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out, 
Keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about, 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 

Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well. 

Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood- 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me, 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care  ; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I, 
Where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  he, 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Summer  wanes  ;  the  children  are  grown  ; 
Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows ; 


1 


196  THIRD   YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Robert  of  Lincoln  's  a  humdrum  crone ; 
Off  he  flies,  and  "we  sing  as  he  goes : 

Bob-o'-Hnk,  bob-o'-link ; 

Spink,  spank,  spink; 
When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain, 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again, 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

THE  PLANTING  OF  THE  APPLE-TREE 

WILLIAM    CULLEN    BRYANT 

Come,  let  us  plant  the  apple-tree. 
Cleave  the  tough  greensward  with  the  spade; 
Wide  let  its  hollow  bed  be  made ; 
There  gently  lay  the  roots,  and  there 
Sift  the  dark  mould  with  kindly  care, 

And  press  it  o'er  them  tenderly, 
As,  round  the  sleeping  infant's  feet 
We  softly  fold  the  cradle  sheet ; 

So  plant  we  the  apple-tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Buds,  which  the  breath  of  summer  days 
Shall  lengthen  into  leafy  sprays  ; 
Boughs  where  the  thrush,  with  crimson  breast, 
Shall  haunt  and  sing  and  hide  her  nest ; 

We  plant,  upon  the  sunny  lea, 
A  shadow  for  the  noontide  hour, 
A  shelter  from  the  summer  shower, 

When  we  plant  the  apple-tree. 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  197 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Sweets  for  a  hundred  flowery  springs 
To  load  the  May-wind's  restless  wings, 
When,  from  the  orchard  row,  he  pours 
Its  fragrance  through  our  open  doors  ; 

A  world  of  blossoms  for  the  bee, 
Flowers  for  the  sick  girl's  silent  room, 
For  the  glad  infant  sprigs  of  bloom, 

We  plant  with  the  apple-tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Fruits  that  shall  swell  in  sunny  June, 
And  redden  in  the  August  noon. 
And  drop,  when  gentle  airs  come  by, 
That  fan  the  blue  September  sky. 

While  children  come,  with  cries  of  glee, 
And  seek  them  where  the  fragrant  grass 
Betrays  their  bed  to  those  who  pass. 

At  the  foot  of  the  apple-tree. 

And  when,  above  this  apple-tree, 
The  winter  stars  are  quivering  bright. 
And  winds  go  howhng  through  the  night. 
Girls,  whose  young  eyes  o'erflow  with  mirth. 
Shall  peel  its  fruit  by  cottage-hearth. 

And  guests  in  prouder  homes  shall  see. 
Heaped  with  the  grape  of  Cintra's  vine 
And  golden  orange  of  the  line, 

The  fruit  of  the  apple-tree. 


198  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

The  fruitage  of  this  apple-tree 
Winds,  and  our  flag  of  stripe  and  star 
Shall  bear  to  coasts  that  he  afar, 
Where  men  shall  wonder  at  the  view, 
And  ask  in  what  fair  groves  they  grew  ; 

And  sojourners  beyond  the  sea 
Shall  think  of  childhood's  careless  day 
And  long,  long  hours  of  summer  play, 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple-tree. 

Each  year  shall  give  this  apple-tree 
A  broader  flush  of  roseate  bloom, 
A  deeper  maze  of  verdurous  gloom, 
And  loosen,  when  the  frost-clouds  lower. 
The  crisp  brown  leaves  in  thicker  showero 

The  years  shall  come  and  pass,  but  we 
Shall  hear  no  longer,  where  we  lie, 
The  summer's  songs,  the  autumn's  sigh. 

In  the  boughs  of  the  apple-tree. 

And  time  shall  waste  this  apple-tree. 
Oh,  when  its  aged  branches  throw 
Thin  shadows  on  the  ground  below. 
Shall  fraud  and  force  and  iron  will 
Oppress  the  weak  and  helpless  still  ? 

What  shall  the  tasks  of  mercy  be. 
Amid  the  toils,  the  strifes,  the  tears. 
Of  those  who  live  when  length  of  years 

Is  wasting  this  apple-tree  ? 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  199 


I  >» 


"  Who  planted  this  old  apple-tree  ? 
The  children  of  that  distant  day 
Thus  to  some  aged  man  shall  say ; 
And,  gazing  on  its  mossy  stem, 
The  gray-haired  man  shall  answer  them : 

"  A  poet  of  the  land  was  he. 
Born  in  the  rude  but  good  old  times ; 
'T  is  said  he  made  some  quaint  old  rhymes 

On  planting  the  apple-tree." 

IN  THE  HAUNTS  OF  BASS  AND  BREAM 

MAURICE   THOMPSON 

Dreams  come  true,  and  everything 
Is  fresh  and  lusty  in  the  spring. 

In  groves  that  smell  Hke  ambergris. 
Wind- songs,  bird-songs,  never  cease. 

Go  with  me  down  by  the  stream. 
Haunt  of  bass  and  purple  bream ; 

Feel  the  pleasure,  keen  and  sweet. 
When  the  cool  waves  lap  your  feet ; 

Catch  the  breath  of  moss  and  mould, 
Hear  the  grosbeak's  whistle  bold ; 

See  the  heron  all  alone 
Midstream  on  a  slippery  stone, 


200  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Or,  on  some  decaying  log, 
Spearing  snail  or  water-frog. 

See  the  shoals  of  sun-perch  shine 
Among  the  pebbles  smooth  and  fine, 

Whilst  the  sprawling  turtles  swim 
In  the  eddies  cool  and  dim  ! 

The  busy  nuthatch  climbs  his  tree, 
Around  the  great  bole  spirally, 

Peeping  into  wrinkles  gray, 
Under  ruffled  Hchens  gay. 

Lazily  piping  one  sharp  note 
From  his  silver  mailed  throat ; 

And  down  the  wind  the  catbird's  song 
A  slender  medley  trails  along. 

Here  a  grackle  chirping  low, 
There  a  crested  vireo ; 

Deep  in  tangled  underbrush 
Flits  the  shadowy  hermit-thrush ; 

Coos  the  dove,  the  robin  trills. 
The  crow  caws  from  the  airy  hills ; 


THIRD  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS  201 

Purple  finch  and  pewee  gray, 
Bluebird,  swallow,  oriole  gay,  — 

Every  tongue  of  Nature  sings ; 
The  air  is  palpitant  with  wings. 

Halcyon  prophecies  come  to  pass 
In  the  haunts  of  bream  and  bass. 

Bubble,  bubble,  flows  the  stream. 
Like  an  old  tune  through  a  dream. 

Halcyon  laughs  and  cuckoo  cries ; 
Through  its  leaves  the  plane-tree  sighse 

Bubble,  bubble  flows  the  stream. 
Here  a  glow  and  there  a  gleam  ; 

Coolness  all  about  me  creeping. 
Fragrance  all  my  senses  steeping,  — ■ 

Spicewood,  sweet-gum,  sassafras. 
Calamus  and  water-grass. 

Giving  up  their  pungent  smells. 
Drawn  from  Nature's  secret  wells ; 

On  the  cool  breath  of  the  morn. 
Perfume  of  the  cock-spur  thorn, 


202  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Green  spathes  of  the  dragon-root, 
Indian  turnip's  tender  shoot, 

Dogwood,  red-bud,  elder,  ash. 
Snowy  gleam  and  purple  flash. 

Hillside  thickets,  densely  green, 
That  the  partridge  revels  in  ! 
•        •••••», 

Out  of  a  giant  tulip-tree 

A  great  gay  blossom  falls  on  me ; 

Old  gold  and  fire  its  petals  are. 
It  flashes  like  a  falling;  star. 

A  big  blue  heron  flying  by 
Looks  at  me  with  a  greedy  eye. 

I  see  a  striped  squirrel  shoot 
Into  a  hoUow  maple  root ; 

A  bumblebee  with  mail  all  rust. 

And  thighs  puffed  out  with  anther-dust. 

Clasps  a  shrinking  bloom  about, 
And  draws  her  amber  sweetness  out. 

Bubble,  bubble,  flows  the  stream. 
Like  low  music  through  a  dream. 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  203 


TRUE    LOVE    REQUITED;    OR,   THE    BAI- 
LIFF'S   DAUGHTER  OF   ISLINGTON 

AN    OLD    ENGLISH   BALLAD 

There  was  a  youth,  and  a  well  belovd  youth, 

And  he  was  an  esquire's  son. 
He  loved  the  bailiff's  daughter  dear, 

That  lived  in  Islin«:ton. 

She  was  coy,  and  she  would  not  beHeve 

That  he  did  love  her  so. 
No,  nor  at  any  time  she  would 

Any  countenance  to  him  show. 

But  when  his  friends  did  understand 

His  fond  and  foolish  mind, 
They  sent  him  up  to  fair  London, 

An  apprentice  for  to  bind. 

And  when  he  had  been  seven  long  years. 
And  his  love  he  had  not  seen, 
**  Many  a  tear  have  I  shed  for  her  sake 
When  she  httle  thought  of  me." 

All  the  maids  of  Islington 

Went  forth  to  sport  and  play ; 
AU  but  the  bailiff's  daughter  dear; 

She  secretly  stole  away. 


204  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

She  put  off  her  gown  of  gray, 
And  put  on  her  puggish  attire ; 

She 's  up  to  fair  London  gone, 
Her  true-love  to  require. 

As  she  went  along  the  road, 

The  weather  being  hot  and  dry, 

There  was  she  aware  of  her  true-love, 
At  length  came  riding  by. 

She  stept  to  him,  as  red  as  any  rose, 
And  took  him  by  the  bridle-ring : 
"  I  pray  you,  kind  sir,  give  me  one  pennyj, 
To  ease  my  weary  limb." 

"  I  prithee,  sweetheart,  canst  thou  tell  me 
Where  that  thou  wast  born  ?  " 

*^  At  Islington,  kind  sir,"  said  she, 

"  Where  I  have  had  many  a  scorn." 

'^*  I  prithee,  sweetheart,  canst  thou  tell  me 
Whether  thou  dost  know 
The  bailiff's  daughter  of  Islington  ?  " 
"  She  's  dead,  sir,  long  ago." 

"  Then  will  I  sell  my  goodly  steed. 
My  saddle  and  my  bow; 
I  will  into  some  far  countrey, 
Where  no  man  doth  me  know." 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  206 

*'  0  stay,  0  stay,  thou  goodly  youth  I 
She 's  alive,  she  is  not  dead  ; 
Here  she  standeth  by  thy  side, 
And  is  ready  to  be  thy  bride." 

**  0  farewel  grief,  and  welcome  joy, 
Ten  thousand  times  and  more  ! 
For  now  I  have  seen  my  own  true-love. 

That  I  thought  I  should  have  seen  no  more." 


YOUNG   LOCHINVAR 

From  Marmion 
SIR   WALTER    SCOTT 

Oh !  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 
Through  all  the  wide  border  his  steed  was  the  best ; 
And  save  his  good  broadsword,  he  weapons  had 

none ; 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  stay'd  not  for  brake  and  he  stopped  not  for 

stone, 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none ; 
But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late : 
For  a  laggard  in  love  and  a  dastard  in  war 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 


206  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bridesmen,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and 

all : 
Then   spoke  the   bride's  father,  his  hand   on  his 

sword,  — 
For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word, — 
*^  Oh  !  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war. 
Or  to  dance  at  our   bridal,  young   Lord  Lochin- 

var?"  — 

"  I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied ; 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide  — 
And  now  am  I  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochin- 
var." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet ;  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  motlier  could  bar,  — 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure  !  "  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face. 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 
While  her  mother  did  fret  and  her  father  did  fume, 
And  the  bridegroom  stood  danMinij  his  bonnet  and 
plume ; 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  207 

And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  "  'T  were  better 

by  far 
To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochin- 

var." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reached  the  hall  door,  and  the  charger 

stood  near ; 
So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung. 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 
"  She  is  won !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and 

scaur ; 
They  '11  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young 

Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby 

clan; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and 

they  ran  : 
There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  Lee, 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 
So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar  ? 

CASABIANCA 

FELICIA    D.    HEMANS 

The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck, 
Whence  all  but  him  had  fled  ; 

The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck 
Shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead. 


208  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Yet  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood, 

As  born  to  rule  the  storm ; 
A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 

A  proud,  though  childlike  form. 

The  flames  roll'd  on  —  he  would  not  go 

Without  his  father's  word  ; 
That  father,  faint  in  death  below, 

His  voice  no  longer  heard. 

He  called  aloud  —  "  Say,  father,  say 

If  yet  my  task  is  done  ?  " 
He  knew  not  that  the  chieftain  lay 

Unconscious  of  his  son. 

*'  Speak,  father !  "  once  again  he  cried, 
"  If  I  may  yet  be  gone  !  " 
And  but  the  booming  shots  replied. 
And  fast  the  flames  roU'd  on. 

Upon  his  brow  he  felt  their  breath. 

And  in  his  waving  hair ; 
And  looked  from  that  lone  post  of  death, 

In  still,  yet  brave  despair. 

And  shouted  but  once  more  aloud, 

"My  father!    Must  I  stay?" 
While  o'er  him  fast,  through  sail  and  shroud, 

The  wreathing  fires  made  way. 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  209 

They  wrapt  the  ship  in  splendor  wild, 

They  caught  the  flag  on  high, 
And  streamed  above  the  gallant  child, 

Like  banners  in  the  sky. 

There  came  a  burst  of  thunder  sound  — 

The  boy  —  oh  !  where  was  he  ? 
Ask  of  the  winds  that  far  around 

With  fragments  strewed  the  sea  ! 

With  mast,  and  helm,  and  pennon  fair, 
That  well  had  borne  their  part  — 

But  the  noblest  thing  that  perished  there 
Was  that  young  faithful  heart. 

THE  DIVERTING  HISTORY  OP 
JOHN   GILPIN; 

•HOWING  HOW  HE  WENT  FARTHER  THAN  HE  INTENDED,  AND 
CAME  SAFE  HOME  AGAIN. 

WILLIAM   COWPER 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renown, 
A  train  band  captain  eke  was  he 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear, 
'*  Though  married  we  have  been 

These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we 
No  holiday  have  seen. 


210  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

*'  To-morrow  is  our  wedding  day. 
And  we  will  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton 
All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 


€( 


My  sister  and  my  sister's  child, 
Myself,  and  children  three. 

Will  fill  the  chaise ;  so  you  must  ride 
On  horseback  after  we." 

He  soon  replied,  "  I  do  admire 

Of  womankind  but  one, 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dear. 

Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 


"  I  am  a  linen  draper  bold. 

As  all  the  world  doth  know. 
And  my  good  friend  the  calender, 
Will  lend  his  horse  to  go." 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  "  That 's  well  said ; 

And  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
We  will  be  furnished  with  our  own, 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear.' 


tf 


John  Gilpin  kiss'd  his  loving  wife  ; 

O'erjoyed  was  he  to  find, 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent» 


She  had  a  frugal  mind. 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  211 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought, 

But  yet  was  not  allow'd 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud. 

So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  stay*d, 

Where  they  did  all  get  in ; 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels. 

Were  never  folk  so  glad. 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath 

As  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 

John  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side, 

Seized  fast  the  flowing  mane. 
And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride, 

But  soon  came  down  again  ; 

For  saddle  tree  scarce  reach'd  had  he, 

His  journey  to  begin, 
When,  turning  round  his  head,  he  saw 

Three  customers  come  in. 

So  down  he  came ;  for  loss  of  time, 

Although  it  grieved  him  sore, 
Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew. 

Would  trouble  him  much  more. 


212  THIRD  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS 

*T  was  long  before  the  customers 

Were  suited  to  their  mind, 
When  Betty  screaming  came  down  stairs, 

"  The  wine  is  left  behind ! " 

"  Good  lack  !  "  quoth  he  —  "  yet  bring  it  me, 
My  leathern  belt  likewise, 
In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword, 
When  I  do  exercise." 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin  (careful  soul !) 
Had  two  stone  bottles  found, 

To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved, 
And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear, 
Through  which  the  belt  he  drew. 

And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side. 
To  make  his  balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 

Equipp'd  from  top  to  toe. 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brush'd  and  neat, 

He  manfully  did  throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones, 

With  caution  and  good  heed. 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  213 

But  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 

Beneath  his  well  shod  feet, 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot, 

Which  gall'd  him  in  his  seat. 

**  So,  fair  and  softly,"  John  he  cried, 
But  John  he  cried  in  vain  ; 
The  trot  became  a  gallop  soon. 
In  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So,  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must. 

Who  cannot  sit  upright. 
He  grasp'd  the  mane  with  both  his  hands. 

And  eke  with  all  liis  might. 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before. 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  nought ; 

Away  went  hat  and  wig ; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out. 

Of  running  such  a  rig. 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly, 

Like  streamer  long  and  gay. 
Till,  loop  and  button  failing  both, 

At  last  it  flew  away. 


214  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern 

The  bottles  he  had  slung ; 
A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side, 

As  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  scream'd, 

Up  flew  the  windows  all ; 
And  every  soul  cried  out,  "  Well  done ! " 

As  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Away  went  Gilpin  —  who  but  he  ? 

His  fame  soon  spread  around, 

"  He  carries  weight !   He  rides  a  race ! 

'T  is  for  a  thousand  pound  !  " 

And  still,  as  fast  as  he  drew  near, 

'T  was  wonderful  to  view 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike  men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down, 

His  reeking  head  full  low. 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shatter' d  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road, 

Most  piteous  to  be  seen, 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke 

As  they  had  basted  been. 


THIRD  YEAR —  LONGER  POEMS  215 

But  still  lie  seem'd  to  carry  weight, 

With  leathern  girdle  braced ; 
For  all  might  see  the  bottle  necks 

Still  dangling  at  his  waist. 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 

These  gambols  he  did  play, 
Until  he  came  unto  the  Wash 

Of  Edmonton  so  gay ; 

And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop. 

Or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

"  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  !  — Here  's  the  house," 

They  all  aloud  did  cry ; 
"  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired  j 

Said  Gilpin  —  "  So  am  I !  " 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inchn'd  to  tarry  there  ; 
For  why  ?  —  his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 


>» 


216  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew, 

Shot  by  an  archer  strong ; 
So  did  he  fly  —  which  brings  me  to 

The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  out  of  breath, 

And  sore  against  his  will, 
Till,  at  his  friend  the  calender's, 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  calender,  amazed  to  see 

His  neighbor  in  such  trim, 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate. 

And  thus  accosted  him : 

**What  news?  what  news?  your  tidings  tell; 
Tell  me  you  must  and  shall  — 
Say,  why  bare  headed  you  are  come, 
Or  why  you  come  at  all  ?  " 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit. 

And  loved  a  timely  joke  ; 
And  thus  unto  the  calender, 

In  merry  guise,  he  spoke : 

**  I  came  because  your  horse  would  come ; 
And,  if  I  well  forebode, 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here, 
They  are  upon  the  road." 


TKIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  217 

The  calender,  right  glad  to  find 

His  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Return' d  him  not  a  single  word, 

But  to  the  house  went  in ; 

Whence  straight  he  came,  with  hat  and  wig, 

A  wig  that  flow'd  behind  ; 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear, 

Each  comely  in  its  kind. 

He  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn 
Thus  show'd  his  ready  wit ; 
•^  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours. 
They  therefore  needs  must  fit." 

•**  But  let  me  scrape  the  dust  away, 
That  hangs  upon  your  face  ; 
And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 
Be  in  a  hungry  case." 

Said  John,  "  It  is  my  wedding-day, 

And  all  the  world  would  stare, 
If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 

And  I  should  dine  at  Ware." 

So,  turning  to  his  horse,  he  said, 

"  I  am  in  haste  to  dine ; 
'T  was  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here. 

You  shall  go  back  for  mine." 


218  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Ah  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boast ! 

For  which  he  paid  full  dear ; 
For,  while  he  spake,  a  braying  ass 

Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear ; 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar. 
And  gallopp'd  off  with  all  his  might. 

As  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 
Went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig ; 

He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first. 
For  why  ?  —  they  were  too  big. 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 
Her  husband  posting  down 

Into  the  country  far  away. 
She  puU'd  out  half-a-crown ; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said, 
That  drove  them  to  the  Bell, 
**  This  shall  be  yours,  when  you  bring  back 
My  husband  safe  and  well." 

The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet 

John  coming  back  amain  ; 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop, 

By  catching  at  his  rein ; 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  219 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant, 

And  gladly  would  have  done, 
The  frighted  steed  he  frighted  more. 

And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  postboy  at  his  heels, 
The  postboy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss 

The  rumblinof  of  the  wheels. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  postboy  scampering  in  the  rear, 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry :  — 

*  Stop  thief !  stop  thief  !  —  a  highwayman  ! " 
Not  one  of  them  was  mute ; 
And  all  and  each  that  passed  that  way, 
Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 

Flew  open  in  short  space : 
The  toll-men  thinking,  as  before, 

That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too, 

For  he  got  first  to  town  ; 
Nor  stopp'd  till  where  he  had  got  up 

He  did  again  get  down. 


220  THIRD   YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Now  let  us  sing,  "  Long  live  the  Mng, 
And  Gilpin,  long  live  he;  " 

And,  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad, 
May  I  be  there  to  see ! 


THE  PIED   PIPER   OF  HAMELIN 

A  CHILD'S  STORY 

ROBERT    BROWNING 
I 

Hamelin  Town  's  in  Brunswick, 
By  famous  Hanover  city ; 

The  river  Weser,  deep  and  wide. 

Washes  its  wall  on  the  southern  side; 

A  pleasanter  spot  you  never  spied ; 
But,  when  begins  my  ditty, 

Almost  five  hundred  years  ago. 

To  see  the  townsfolk  suffer  so 
From  vermin,  was  a  pity. 

n 
Rats ! 

They  fought  the  dogs  and  killed  the  oats, 

And  bit  the  babies  in  the  cradles, 
And  ate  the  cheeses  out  of  the  vats, 

And  licked  the  soup  from  the  cooks'  own  ladles, 
Split  open  the  kegs  of  salted  sprats, 
Made  nests  inside  men's  Sunday  hats, 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  221 

And  even  spoiled  the  women's  chats 

By  drowning  their  speaking 

With  shrieking  and  squeaking 
In  fifty  different  sharps  and  flats. 

Ill 
At  last  the  people  in  a  body 

To  the  Town  Hall  came  flockinsr : 
"  'T  is  clear,"  cried  they,  "  our  Mayor  *s  a  noddy  ; 

And  as  for  our  Corporation  —  shocking 
To  think  we  buy  gowns  lined  with  ermine 
For  dolts  that  can't  or  won't  determine 
What 's  best  to  rid  us  of  our  vermin  ! 
You  hope  because  you  're  old  and  obese, 
To  find  in  the  furry  civic  robe  ease  ? 
Rouse  up,  sirs  !     Give  your  brains  a  racking 
To  find  the  remedy  we  're  lacking. 
Or,  sure  as  fate,  we  '11  send  you  packing ! " 
At  this  the  Mayor  and  Corporation 
Quaked  with  a  mighty  consternation. 

IV 
An  hour  they  sat  in  council ; 

At  length  the  Mayor  broke  silence : 
"  For  a  guilder  I  'd  my  ermine  gown  sell, 
I  wish  I  were  a  mile  hence ! 
It  *s  easy  to  bid  one  rack  one's  brain  — 
I  'm  sure  my  poor  head  aches  again, 
I  *ve  scratched  it  so,  and  all  in  vain. 


222  THIRD   YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Oh  for  a  trap,  a  trap,  a  trap ! " 

Just  as  he  said  this,  what  should  hap 

At  the  chamber-door  but  a  gentle  tap  ? 

"  Bless  us,"  cried  the  Mayor,  "  what  *s  that  ?  ** 

(With  the  Corporation  as  he  sat. 

Looking  little  though  wondrous  fat ; 

Nor  brighter  was  his  eye,  nor  moister 

Than  a  too-long-opened  oyster, 

Save  when  at  noon  his  paunch  grew  mutinous 

For  a  plate  of  turtle  green  and  glutinous) 

**  Only  a  scraping  of  shoes  on  the  mat  ? 

Anything  like  the  sound  of  a  rat 

Makes  my  heart  go  pit-a-pat !  " 


"  Come  in  ! "  —  the  Mayor  cried,  looking  bigger: 

And  in  did  come  the  strangest  figure ! 

His  queer  long  coat  from  heel  to  head 

Was  half  of  yellow  and  half  of  red. 

And  he  himself  was  tall  and  thin. 

With  sharp  blue  eyes,  each  like  a  pin, 

And  light  loose  hair,  yet  swarthy  skin, 

No  tuft  on  cheek  nor  beard  on  chin. 

But  lips  where  smiles  went  out  and  in ; 

There  was  no  guessing  his  kith  and  kin : 

And  nobody  could  enough  admire 

The  tall  man  and  his  quaint  attire. 

Quoth  one :  "  It 's  as  my  great-grandsire. 

Starting  up  at  the  Trump  of  Doom's  tone, 

Had  walked  this  way  from  his  painted  tomb-stone  I " 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  223 

VI 

He  advanced  to  the  council-table : 

And,  "  Please  your  honors,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  able> 

By  means  of  a  secret  charm,  to  draw 

All  creatures  living  beneath  the  sun, 

That  creep  or  swim  or  fly  or  run, 

After  me  so  as  you  never  saw ! 

And  I  chiefly  use  my  charm 

On  creatures  that  do  people  harm. 

The  mole  and  toad  and  newt  and  viper ; 

And  people  call  me  the  Pied  Piper." 

(And  here  they  noticed  round  his  neck 

A  scarf  of  red  and  yellow  stripe, 

To  match  with  his  coat  of  the  self -same  cheque ; 

And  at  the  scarf's  end  hung  a  pipe ; 

And  his  fingers,  they  noticed,  were  ever  straying 

As  if  impatient  to  be  playing 

Upon  this  pipe,  as  low  it  dangled 

Over  his  vesture  so  old-fangled.) 
**  Yet,"  said  he,  "  poor  piper  as  I  am, 

In  Tartary  I  freed  the  Cham, 

Last  June,  from  his  huge  swarms  of  gnats ; 

I  eased  in  Asia  the  Nizam 

Of  a  monstrous  brood  of  vampire-bats : 

And  as  for  what  your  brain  bewilders, 

If  I  can  rid  your  town  of  rats 

Will  you  give  me  a  thousand  guilders  ?  " 
"  One  ?  fifty  thousand  !  "  —  was  the  exclamation 

Of  the  astonished  Mayor  and  Corporation. 


224  THIRD  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS 

VII 

Into  the  street  the  Piper  stept, 

Smiling  first  a  Httle  smile, 
As  if  he  knew  what  magic  slept 

In  his  quiet  pipe  the  while ; 
Then,  like  a  musical  adept, 
To  blow  the  pipe  his  lips  he  wrinkled, 
And  green  and  blue  his  sharp  eyes  twinkled, 
Like  a  candle-flame  where  salt  is  sprinkled ; 
And  ere  three  shrill  notes  the  pipe  uttered, 
You  heard  as  if  an  army  muttered ; 
And  the  muttering  grew  to  a  grumbling ; 
And  the  grumbling  grew  to  a  mighty  rumbling ; 
And  out  of  the  houses  the  rats  came  tumbling. 
Great  rats,  small  rats,  lean  rats,  brawny  rats, 
Brown  rats,  black  rats,  gray  rats,  tawny  rats, 
Grave  old  plodders,  gay  young  friskers, 

Fathers,  mothers,  uncles,  cousins, 
Cocking  tails  and  pricking  whiskers, 
Families  by  tens  and  dozens. 
Brothers,  sisters,  husbands,  wives  — 
Followed  the  Piper  for  their  lives. 
From  street  to  street  he  piped  advancing. 
And  step  for  step  they  followed  dancing, 
Until  they  came  to  the  river  Weser, 
Wherein  all  plunged  and  perished  ! 
—  Save  one  who,  stout  as  Julius  Caesar, 
Swam  across  and  lived  to  carry 
(As  he,  the  manuscript  he  cherished) 


THIRD  YEAR— LONGER   POEMS  225 

To  Rat-land  home  his  commentary : 

Which    was,    "At    the    first    shrill    notes    of    the 

pipe, 
I  heard  a  sound  as  of  scraping  tripe, 
And  putting  apples,  wondrous  ripe, 
Into  a  cider-press's  gripe : 
And  a  moving  away  of  pickle-tub-boards. 
And  a  leaving  ajar  of  conserve-cupboards. 
And  a  drawing  the  corks  of  train-oil-flasks, 
And  a  breaking  the  hoops  of  butter-casks : 
And  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice 
(Sweeter  far  than  by  harp  or  by  psaltery 
Is  breathed)  called  out,  *  Oh  rats,  rejoice  ! 
The  world  is  grown  to  one  vast  drysaltery ! 
So  munch  on,  crunch  on,  take  your  nuncheon  ! 

Breakfast,  supper,  dinner,  luncheon  !  ' 
And  just  as  the  bulky  sugar-puncheon. 
All  ready  staved,  like  a  great  sun  shone 
Glorious  scarce  an  inch  before  me. 
Just  as  methought  it  said,  *  Come,  bore  me  ! ' 
—  I  found  the  Weser  rolling  o'er  me.'* 

Vlir 

You  should  have  heard  the  Hamelin  people 
Ringing  the  bells  till  they  rocked  the  steeple. 
"  Go,"  cried  the  Mayor,  "  and  get  long  poles, 
Poke  out  the  nests  and  block  up  the  holes  ! 
Consult  with  cai-penters  and  builders, 
And  leave  in  our  town  not  even  a  trace 
Of  the  rats !  "  —  when  suddenly,  up  the  face 


226  THIRD   YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

Of  the  Piper  perked  in  the  market-place, 
With  a,  "  First,  if  you  please  my  thousand  guil- 
ders ! " 

IX 

A  thousand  guilders  !    The  Mayor  looked  blue ; 

So  did  the  Corporation  too. 

For  council  dinners  made  rare  havoc 

With  Claret,  Moselle,  Vin-de-Grave,  Hock ; 

And  half  the  money  would  replenish 

Their  cellar's  biggest  butt  with  Rhenish. 

To  pay  this  sum  to  a  wandering  fellow 

With  a  gypsy  coat  of  red  and  yellow ! 

"  Beside,"  quoth  the  Mayor  with  a  knowing  wink, 

"  Our  business  was  done  at  the  river's  brink ; 

We  saw  with  our  eyes  the  vermin  sink. 

And  what 's  dead  can't  come  to  life,  I  think. 

So,  friend,  we  *re  not  the  folks  to  shrink 

From  the  duty  of  giving  you  something  for  drink, 

And  a  matter  of  money  to  put  in  your  poke ; 

But  as  for  the  guilders,  what  we  spoke 

Of  them,  as  you  very  well  know,  was  in  joke. 

Beside,  our  losses  have  made  us  thrifty. 

A  thousand  guilders  !    Come,  take  fifty  1 


The  Piper's  face  fell,  and  he  cried, 
"  No  trifling  !    I  can't  wait,  beside  ! 
I  've  promised  to  visit  by  dinner  time 
Bagdat,  and  accept  the  prime 


if 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  227 

Of  the  Head-Cook's  pottage,  all  he  's  rich  in, 
For  having  left,  in  the  Caliph's  kitchen, 
Of  a  nest  of  scorpions  no  survivor : 
With  him  I  proved  no  bargain-driver, 
With  you,  don't  think  I  '11  bate  a  stiver ! 
And  folks  who  put  me  in  a  passion 
May  find  me  pipe  after  another  fashion." 

XI 

"  How  ?  "  cried  the  Mayor,  "  d'  ye  think  I  brook 

Being  worse  treated  than  a  Cook  ? 

Insulted  by  a  lazy  ribald 

With  idle  pipe  and  vesture  piebald  ? 

You  threaten  us,  fellow  ?   Do  your  worst, 

Blow  your  pipe  there  till  you  burst !  " 

XII 

Once  more  he  stept  into  the  street, 

And  to  his  lips  again 
Laid  his  long  pipe  of  smooth  straight  cane ; 

And  ere  he  blew  three  notes  (such  sweet 
Soft  notes  as  yet  musician's  cunning 

Never  gave  the  enraptured  air) 
There  was  a  rustling  that  seemed  like  a  bustling 
Of  merry  crowds  justHng  at  pitching  and  hustling ; 
Small  feet  were  pattering,  wooden  shoes  clattering, 
Little  hands  clapping  and  little  tongues  chattering, 
And,  like  fowls  in  a  farm-yard  when  barley  is  scat- 
tering, 
Out  came  the  children  running. 


228  THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS 

All  the  little  boys  and  girls, 

With  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls, 

And  sparkling  eyes  and  teeth  like  pearls, 

Tripping  and  skipping,  ran  merrily  after 

The  wonderful  music  with  shouting  and  laughter. 

XIII 

The  Mayor  was  dumb,  and  the  Council  stood 
As  if  they  were  changed  into  blocks  of  wood, 
Unable  to  move  a  step,  or  cry 
To  the  children  merrily  skipping  by, 
—  Could  only  follow  with  the  eye 
That  joyous  crowd  at  the  Piper's  back. 
But  now  the  Mayor  was  on  the  rack, 
And  the  wretched  Council's  bosoms  beat. 
As  the  Piper  turned  from  the  High  Street 
To  where  the  Weser  rolled  its  waters 
Right  in  the  way  of  their  sons  and  daughters  ! 
However,  he  turned  from  South  to  West, 
And  to  Koppelberg  Hill  his  steps  addressed, 
And  after  him  the  children  pressed; 
Great  was  the  joy  in  every  breast. 
"  He  never  can  cross  that  mighty  top  ! 
He  *s  forced  to  let  the  piping  drop, 
And  we  shall  see  our  children  stop  !  " 
When,  lo,  as  they  reached  the  mountain-side, 
A  wondrous  portal  opened  wide, 
As  if  a  cavern  was  suddenly  hollowed ; 
And   the    Piper    advanced   and    the   children   fol- 
lowed. 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  229 

And  when  all  were  in  to  the  very  last, 
The  door  in  the  mountain-side  shut  fast. 
Did  I  say,  all  ?   No  !    One  was  lame, 
And  could  not  dance  the  whole  of  the  way ; 
And  in  after  years,  if  you  would  blame 
His  sadness,  he  was  used  to  say,  — 
"  It 's  dull  in  our  town  since  my  playmates  left ! 
I  can't  forget  that  I  'm  bereft 
Of  all  the  pleasant  sights  they  see. 
Which  the  Piper  also  promised  me. 
For  he  led  us,  he  said,  to  a  joyous  land, 
Joinmg  the  town  and  just  at  hand, 
Where  waters  gushed  and  fruit-trees  grew, 
And  flowers  put  forth  a  fairer  hue. 
And  everything  was  strange  and  new  ; 
The  sparrows  were  brighter  than  peacocks  here, 
And  their  dogs  outran  our  fallow  deer. 
And  honey-bees  had  lost  their  stings. 
And  horses  were  born  with  eagles'  wings : 
And  just  as  I  became  assured 
My  lame  foot  would  be  speedily  cured, 
The  music  stopped  and  I  stood  still. 
And  found  myself  outside  the  hill, 
Left  alone  against  my  will, 
To  go  now  limping  as  before. 
And  never  hear  of  that  country  more  !  " 

XIV 

Alas,  alas  for  Hamelin  ! 

There  came  into  many  a  burgher's  pate 


230  THIRD  YEAR— LONGER  POEMS 

A  text  which  says  that  heaven's  gate 

Opes  to  the  rich  at  as  easy  rate 
As  the  needle's  eye  takes  a  camel  in  ! 
The  Mayor  sent  East,  West,  North,  and  South, 
To  offer  the  Piper,  by  word  of  mouth, 

Wherever  it  was  men's  lot  to  find  him. 
Silver  and  gold  to  his  heart's  content, 
If  he  'd  only  return  the  way  he  went, 

And  bring  the  children  behind  him. 
But  when  they  saw  't  was  a  lost  endeavor, 
And  Piper  and  dancers  were  gone  forever. 
They  made  a  decree  that  lawyers  never 

Should  think  their  records  dated  duly 
If,  after  the  day  of  the  month  and  year, 
These  words  did  not  as  well  appear, 
"  And  so  long  after  what  happened  here 

©n  the  Twenty-second  of  July, 
Thirteen  hundred  and  seventy-six  :  " 
And  the  better  in  memory  to  fix 
The  place  of  the  children's  last  retreat. 
They  called  it,  the  Pied  Piper's  Street  — 
Where  any  one  playing  on  pipe  or  tabor 
Was  sure  for  the  future  to  lose  his  labor. 
Nor  suffered  they  hostelry  or  tavern 

To  shock  with  mirth  a  street  so  solemn ; 
But  opposite  the  place  of  the  cavern 

They  wrote  the  story  on  a  column^ 
And  on  the  great  church-window  painted 
The  same,  to  make  the  world  acquainted 
How  their  children  were  stolen  away, 


THIRD  YEAR  — LONGER  POEMS  231 

And  there  it  stands  to  this  very  day. 

And  I  must  not  omit  to  say 

That  in  Transylvania  there  's  a  tribe 

Of  alien  people  who  ascribe 

The  outlandish  ways  and  dress 

On  which  their  neighbors  lay  sucb  stress, 

To  their  fathers  and  mothers  having  risen 

Out  of  some  subterraneous  prison 

Into  which  they  were  trepanned 

Long  time  ago  in  a  mighty  band 

Out  of  Hamelin  town  in  Brunswick  land, 

But  how  or  why,  they  don't  understand. 

XV 

So,  Willy,  let  me  and  you  be  wipers 

Of  scores  out  with  all  men  —  especially  pipers ! 

And,  whether  they  pipe  us  free  from  rats  or  from 

mice. 
If  we  've  promised   them  aught,  let  us  keep  our 

promise. 


HELPS   FOR  THE  DAY'S  WORK 


Every  day  is  a  fresh  beginning, 
Every  morn  is  a  world  made  new. 

Susan  Coolidge. 

Be  not  simply  good,  be  good  for  something. 

Henry  D.  Thoreau. 

Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with 
thy  might. 

ECCLESIASTES  IX,  10. 

To  look  up  and  not  down ; 

To  look  forward  and  not  back ; 

To  look  out  and  not  in  ; 

And 

To  lend  a  hand. 

Edward  Everett  Hale, 
Motto  of  the  Lend-a-Hand  Clu& 

A  cheerful  spirit  gets  on  quick, 
A  grumbler  in  the  mud  will  stick. 

If  one  life  shine,  the  life  next  to  it  will  catcb 
the  light. 

William  C.  Gannett. 


HELPS   FOR  THE   DAY'S   WORK  233 

Shine  like  the  sun  in  every  corner. 

George  Herbert. 


I  am  content  with  what  I  have, 

Little  be  it,  or  much. 

John  Bunyait. 

Let  us  be  content  to  work. 

To  do  the  thing  we  can,  and  not  presume 

To  fret  because  it 's  Httle. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  BROWNiifO- 

Small  service  is  true  service  while  it  lasts. 

William  Wordsworth. 

And  each  good  thought  or  action  moves 

The  dark  world  nearer  to  the  sun. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait. 

John  Milton. 

Be  useful  where  thou  livest,  that  they  may 
Both  want  and  wish  thy  pleasing  presence  still. 

George  Herbert. 

Square  thyself  for  use.    A  stone  that  may 

Fit  in  the  wall  is  not  left  by  the  way. 

Persian  Proverb. 

Work  apace,  apace,  apace. 

Honest  labor  bears  a  lovely  face. 

Thomas  Dekker. 


234  HELPS   FOR  THE   DAY'S  WORK 

Habit  is  a  cable  ;  we  weave  a  thread  of  it  every 
day,  and  it  becomes  so  strong  we  cannot  break  it. 

Horace  Mann. 

All  that 's  great  and  good  is  done 
Just  by  patient  trying. 

Phcebe  Gary. 

I  intend  to  fight  it  out  on  this  line,  if  it  takes  all 
summer. 

TJltsses  S.  Grant. 

Strive  manfully  ;  habit  is  overcome  by  habit. 

Thomas  X  Kempis. 

It  never  will  rain  roses ;  if  you  want  more  roses, 

you  must  plant  more  rose-trees. 

Geokge  Eliot. 

Every  duty  we  omit  obscures  some  truth  we  should 

have  known. 

John  Ruskin. 

Do  the  duty  that  lies  nearest  to  thee. 

GOETHK. 

When  Duty  whispers  low  "  Thou  must,'* 

The  youth  replies,  "  I  can." 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Attempt  the  end  and  never  stand  to  doubt ; 
Nothing  's  so  hard  but  search  will  find  it  out. 

Robert  Herrick. 


HELPS   FOR  THE   DAY'S  WORK  235 

Step  by  step  lifts  bad  to  good, 
Without  halting,  without  rest. 
Lifting  better  up  to  best ; 
Planting  seeds  of  knowledge  pure. 
Through  earth  to  ripen,  through  Heaven  endure. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Patience  is  power.    With  time  and  patience  the 

mulberry  leaf  becomes  satin. 

Eastern  Proverb. 

For  easy  things  that  may  be  got  at  will 

Most  sorts  of  men  do  set  but  little  store. 

Edmund  Spenser. 

He  has  hard  work  who  has  nothing  to  do. 

Speak  every  man  truth  with  his  neighbor. 

The  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  rv,  25. 

Dare  to  be  true  ; 

Nothing  can  need  a  lie ; 

The  fault  that  needs  one  most 

Grows  two  thereby. 

George  Herbert. 

If  it  is  not  right,  do  not  do  it ;  if  it  Is  not  true, 

do  not  say  it. 

Marcus  Aurelius. 

This  above  all  —  to  thine  own  self  be  true ; 

And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 

Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

WiLLLA-M  Shakespeare. 


236  HELPS   FOR  THE   DAY'S   WORK 

There 's  nothing  so  kingly  as  kindness, 
There  's  nothing  so  royal  as  truth. 

He  who  is  honest  is  noble, 
Whatever  his  fortunes  or  birth. 

Alice  Gary. 

Life  is  not  so  short  but  that  there  is  always  time 
for  courtesy. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

The  gentler  born  the  maiden,  the  more  bound  to 
be  sweet  and  serviceable. 

Alfred  Teknyson. 

She  doeth  little  kindnesses 

Which  most  leave  undone,  or  despise  ; 

For  naught  that  sets  one's  heart  at  ease, 

Or  giveth  happiness  or  peace. 

Is  low  esteemed  in  her  eyes. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 

Be  ye  kind,  one  to  another,  tender-hearted. 

The  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  iv,  32. 

Keep  thy  tongue  from  evil. 

Psalms  xxxiv,  13. 

A  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath ;  but  grievous 

words  stir  up  anger. 

Proverbs  xv,  1. 

A   word   and  a   stone   once   let   go   cannot   be 
recalled. 


HELPS  FOR  THE  DAY'S  WORK  237 

The  secret  of  being  lovely  is  being  unselfish. 

JosiAH  Gilbert  Holland. 

They  who  travel  with  By-and-by 
Soon  come  to  the  house  of  Never. 

To-day,  to-day,  to-day. 

John  Ruskin's  Motto. 

He  that  is  good  at  making  excuses  is  seldom 
good  for  anything  else. 

I  would  rather  be  right  than  President. 

Henky  Clay. 

Liberty  and  Union,  now  and   forever,  one  and 

inseparable. 

Daniel  Webster. 

White  for  purity,  red  for  valor,  blue  for  jus- 
tice. .  .  .  the  flag  of  our  country,  to  be  cherished 
by  all  our  hearts,  to  be  upheld  by  all  our  hands. 

Charles  Sumner. 


Cowards  are  cruel,  but  the  brave 
Love  mercy  and  delight  to  save. 


Gay. 


Abraham    Lincoln's  heart  was  as  great  as  the 

world,  but  there  was  no  room  in  it  for  the  memory 

of  a  wrong. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 

Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey  (1836-1907) 

Before  the  Rain,  140  ;  Cradle-Song,  34  ;  The  Winter  Robin. 
58. 

Allingham,  William  (1824-1889) 

The  Fairies,  74  ;  Robin  Redbreast,  110  ;  Wishing,  79. 
Bible,  The 

The  Twenty-third    Psalm,  116 ;    Verses  from  St.  Luke  (ii. 

8-14),  60  ;  Verses  from  Tlie  Song  of  Solomon,  (ii.  11,  12),  8, 

Bjornson,  Bjornstjerne  (1832-1910) 

The  Tree,  52. 
Blake,  William  (1757-1827) 

The  Shepherd,  31. 
Brooks,  C.  T.  (1813-1883)  and  Dwight,  J.  S.  ri813-l893) 

God  bless  our  Native  Land,  66. 
Brooks,  Phillips  (1835-1893) 

0  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem,  192. 
Browning,    Robert    (1812-1889) 

The  Pied  Piper,  220  ;  Pippa's  Song,  9. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen  (1794-1878) 

March,  102 ;  Planting  of  the  Apple-Tree,  196  ;   Robert  of 

Lincoln,  193. 

Burns,  Robert  (1759-1796) 
My  Jean,  157. 

Carlyle,  Thomas  (1795-1881) 

To-day,  81. 
Gary,  Alice  (1820-1871) 

November,  115  ;  To  Mother  Fairie,  14. 

Gary,  Ph(ebe  (1824-1871) 

Don't  Give  Up,  107. 
Ghild,  Lydia  Maria  (1802-1880) 

Thanksgiving-Day,  58. 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (1772-1834) 

Answer  to  a  Child's  Question,  70  ;  Praying  and  Loving,  Su 


240  INDEX   OF  AUTHORS 

Cone,  Helen  Gray  (1859- ) 

The  Dandelions,  86. 
CowPER,  William  (1731-1800) 

The  Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin,  209. 

Cunningham,  Allan  (1784-1842) 

Sea-Song,  A,  151. 
Dickens,  Charles  (1812-1870) 

Christmas-Time,  62. 
Drake,  Joseph  Rodman  (1795-1820) 

The  American  Flag,  147. 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  (1803-1882) 

April  and  May,  131 ;  Concord  Hymn.  131 ;  A  Fable,  46. 
Field,  Eugene  (1850-1895) 

A  Norse  Lullaby,  63 ;  Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod,  164. 

Fields,  James  T.  (1816-1881) 

Ballad  of  the  Tempest,  156. 
Follen,  Eliza  Lee  (1787-1859) 

The  Runaway  Brook,  25. 
Gilder,  Richard  Watson  (1844-1909) 

Cradle-Song,  54. 

GusTAFsoN,  Mrs.  J.  B.  (1841-1917) 

April,  25. 
Hemans,  Felicia  D.  (1793-1835) 

Casablanca,  207  ;  Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  145. 
Herrick,  Robert  (1591-1674) 

Ciiristmas  Carol,  118  ;  Humility,  82 ;  The  Succession  of  the 

Four  Sweet  Months,  84 ;  To  Violets,  83. 
Hogg,  James  (1770-1835) 

A  Boy's  Song,  77. 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell  (1809-1894) 

Old  Ironsides,  149 ;  Spring  has  come,  128. 
Hood,  Thomas  (1798-1845) 

No!  115. 

Houghton,  Lord  (Richard  Monckton  Milnes)  (1809-1885) 

Lady  Moon,  13. 
Howe,  Julla.  Ward  (1819-1910) 

Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic,  148. 
HowiTT,  Mary  (1804-1888) 

The   Fairies    of    the   Caldon-Low,    178;    Summer   Woods, 

175. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  241 

Hugo,  Victor  (1802-1885) 

Good-Night,  15. 
Hunt,  James  Henky  Leigh  (1784-1859) 

Abou  Ben  Adhem,  98. 
Ingelow,  Jean  (1830-1897) 

Seven  times  One,  78. 
Jackson,  Helen  Hunt  (1831-1885) 

October's  Bright  Blue  Weather,  93 ;  September,  41. 
Key,  Francis  Scott  (1779-1843) 

The  Star-Spangled  Banner,  145. 
KiNGSLEY,  Charles  (1819-1875) 

A  Farewell,  64  ;  The  Lost  DoU,  87. 
Lane,  M.  A.  L.  (1862-  ) 

Hilda's  Christmas,  119. 

Larcom,  Lucy  (1826-1893) 

The  Brown  Thrush,  85  ;  March,  68. 

Lear,  Edward  (1812-1888) 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat,  166. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth  (1807-1882) 

The  Arrow  and  the  Song,  92  ;  The  Bell  of  Atri,  187  ;  The 
ChaUenge  of  Thor,  55  ;  The  Children's  Hour,  132  ;  Day- 
break, 129  ;  The  Four  Winds,  122  ;  Hiawatha's  Childhood, 
37  ;  Hiawatha's  Sailing,  88  ;  Paul  Revere's  Ride,  182  ;  Rain 
in  Summer,  106 ;  Snowflakes,  43 ;  The  Village  Blacksmith, 
112 ;  Winter  and  Spring,  159. 

Lowell,  James  Russell  (1819-1891) 

A  Christmas  Carol,  191 ;  The  Fountain,  152 ;   Stanzas  on 

Freedom,  125. 
McDowell,  Mary 

Civic  Creed,  126. 
Miller,  Emily  Huntington  (1833-  ) 

The  Bluebird,  71 ;  Little  May,  26. 
Miller,  Hugh  (1802-1856) 

TheBabie,  52. 
Moore,  Clement  C.  (1779-1863) 

A  Visit  from  St.  Nicholas,  167. 
Moultrie,  John  (1799-1874) 

Violets,  83. 
MuLocK,  Dinah  Maria  (Mrs.  Craik)  (1826-1887) 

A  Christmas  Carol,  61- 


242  INDEX   OF  AUTHORS 

PouLssoN,  Emilie  (1853-  ) 

The  First  Christmas,  4;  "While  Stars  of  Christmas  Shine," 

18. 
Pratt,  Anna  M. 

A  Hint,  19. 

Pyle,  Katherine 
The  Sea  Princess,  36. 

RossETTi,  Christina  G.  (1830-1894) 

A  Chill,  20 ;  The  City  Mouse  and  the  Country  Mouse,  54 ; 
An  Emerald  is  as  Green  as  Grass,  82  ;  Lullaby,  12  ;  Milking 
Time,  14;  Sing-Song,  33  ;  Summer,  30;  The  Wind,  2  ;  Win- 
ter Rain,  100. 

Savage,  Philip  H.  (1868-1899) 
Winter,  22. 

Schiller,  Johann  Christoph  Friedrich  (1759-1805) 
The  Rainbow — A  Riddle,  141. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter  (1771-1832) 

Hie  away,  hie  away,  72  ;  The  Lighthouse,  64  ;  Young  Lochin- 

var,  205  ;  My  Native  Land,  127. 
Shakespeare,  William  (1564-1616) 

Ariel's  Song,  10  ;  Lullaby  for  Titania,  73  ;  A  Morning  Song, 

50 ;  Song  of  the  Fairy,  49 ;  The  Greenwood  Tree,  135. 
Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe  (1792-1822) 

Daybreak,    151 ;     Passage    of    the    Apennines,    150 ;    The 

Cloud,  105. 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley  (1751-1816) 

The  Months,  19. 
Sherman,  Frank  Dempster  (1860-1916) 

The  Four  Winds,  68 ;  Pebbles,  138  ;  The  Snow-Bird,  6. 
Smith,  Samuel  Francis  (1808-1895) 

America,  21. 

SouTHEY,  Caroline  B.  (1786-1854) 

Lady-Bird,  Lady-Bird,  51. 
Stevenson,  Robert  Louis  (1850-1894) 

Autumn  Fires,  1 ;  Bed  in  Summer,  28 ;  The  Sun's  Travels, 

30;  The  Wind,  7  ;  Winter-Time,  5. 
Tate,  Nahtjm  (1652-1715) 

While  Shepherds  watched  their  Flocks  by  Night,  96^ 
Taylor,  Jane  (1783-1824) 

I  love  Little  Pussy,  33 ;  Thank  you,  Pretty  Cow,  11. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS  243 

Tknjtyson,  Alfred,  Lord  (1809-1892) 

The  Brook,  136 ;  Bugle  Song,  141 ;  The  City  Child,  27  ;  The 
Eagle,  82 ;  Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall,  108  ;  New  Year's 
Eve,  121 ;  The  Snowdrop,  65  ;  Sweet  and  Low,  24  ;  Winter, 
45. 

Thaxter,  Celia  (1835-1894) 

Jack  Frost,  42  ;  Little  Gustava,  173  ;  March,  47  ;  Nikolina, 
172;  Piccola,  170;  The  Sandpiper,  94;  Spring,  48;  Wild 
Geese,  103, 

Thomas,  Edith  M.  (1854-1925) 
The  Fir-Tree,  57. 

Thompson,  Maurice  (1844-1902) 

In  the  Haunts  of  Bass  and  Bream,  199. 

Unknown 

As  Joseph  was  a-walking,  44 ;  An  Autumn  Riddle,  12 ;  The 
Caterpillar,  23 ;  Cradle  Song,  23 ;  Cunning  Bee,  36 ;  The 
Dandelion,  35  ;  Greek  Children's  Song,  128 ;  King  and 
Queen,  22  ;  Little  Things,  16  ;  An  Old  Christmas  Carol,  17  ; 
An  Old  English  Carol,  17  ;  An  Old  Gaelic  Cradle-Song,  15 ; 
Sewini^,  35  ;  Song  of  the  Fairies,  76  ;  Things  to  Remember, 
33  ;  True  Love  Requited,  203  ;  Up  in  the  Morning  Early,  28; 
The  Weather,  32 ;  What  Every  One  Knows,  32. 

Warner,  L.  G. 

Friends,  108. 
Whittier,  John  Greenleaf  (1807-1892) 

Indian  Summer,  110  ;  In  School-Days,  154. 
Wordsworth,  William  (1770-1850) 

Lines  Written  in  March,  67 ;  The  Reverie  of  Poor  Susan,  158; 

To  a  Child,  65. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Abou  Ben  Adhem,  98. 

America,  21. 

American  Flag,  The,  147. 

An  Emerald  is  as  Green  as  Grass, 

82. 
Answer  to  a  Child's  Question,  70. 
April,  25. 

April  and  May,  131. 
Ariel's  Song,  10. 
Arrow  and  the  Song,  The,  92. 
As  Joseph  was  a-walking,  44. 
Autumn  Fires,  1. 
Autumn  Riddle,  An,  12. 

Babie,  The,  52, 

Ballad  of  the  Tempest,  156. 

Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic,  148. 

Bed  in  Summer,  28. 

Before  the  Rain,  140. 

Bell  of  Atri,  The,  187. 

Bluebird,  The,  71. 

Boy's  Song,  A,  77. 

Brook,  The,  136. 

Brown  Thrush,  The,  85. 

Bugle  Song,  141. 

Casablanca,  207. 

Caterpillar,  The,  23. 

Challenge  of  Thor,  The,  55. 

Children's  Hour,  The,  132. 

Chill,  A,  20. 

Christmas  Carol  (Herrick),  118. 

Christmas  Carol,  A  (Lowell),  191. 

Christmas  Carol,  A  (Mulock),  61. 

Christmas-Time,  62. 

City  Child,  The,  27. 

City    Mouse    and    the    Country 

Mouse,  The,  54. 
Civic  Creed,  126. 
Cloud,  The,  105. 


Concord  Hymn,  131. 
Cradle  Song  (Aldrich),  34. 
Cradle  Song  (Gilder),  54. 
Cradle  Song  (Unknown),  23. 
Cunning  Bee,  36. 

Dandelion,  The,  35. 
Dandelions,  The,  86. 
Daybreak  (Longfellow),  129. 
Daybreak  (Shelley),  151. 
Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin, 

The   209. 
Don't  Give  Up,  107. 

Eagle,  The,  82. 

Fable,  A,  46. 

Fairies,  The,  74. 

Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low,  The. 

178. 
Farewell,  A,  64. 
First  Christmas,  The,  4. 
Fir-Tree,  The,  57. 
Flower   in   the    Crannied   Wall. 

108. 
Fountain,  The,  152. 
Four  Winds,  The  (Longfellow). 

122. 
Four  Winds,  The  (Sherman),  68. 
Freedom,  Stanzas  on,  125. 
Friends,  108. 

God  bless  our  Native  Land,  66, 
Good-Night,  15. 
Greek  Children's  Song,  128. 
Greenwood  Tree,  The,  135. 

Hiawatha's  Childhood,  37. 
Hiawatha's  Sailing,  88. 
Hie  away,  hie  away,  72. 


246 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Hilda's  Christmas,  119. 
Hint,  A,  19. 

Humility,  82. 

I  love  Little  Pussy,  33. 

In  School-Days,  154. 

In  the  Haunts  of  Bass  and  Bream, 

199. 
Indian  Summer,  110. 

Jack  Frost,  42. 

King  and  Queen,  22. 

Lady-Bird,  51. 

Lady  Moon,  13. 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers, 

145. 
Lighthouse,  The,  64. 
Lines  Written  in  March,  67. 
Little  Gustava,  173. 
Little  May,  26. 
Little  Things,  16. 
Lost  Doll,  The,  87. 
Lullaby,  12. 
Lullaby  for  Titania,  73. 

March  (Bryant),  102. 
March  (Larcom),  68. 
March  (Thaxter),  47. 
Milking  Time,  14. 
Months,  The,  19. 
Morning  Song,  A,  60. 
My  Jean,  157. 
My  Native  Land,  127. 

New  Year's  Eve,  121. 
Nikolina,  172. 
No!  115. 

Norse  Lullaby,  A,  63. 
November,  115. 

O  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem,  192. 
October's  Bright  Blue  Weather, 

93. 
Old  Christmas  Carol,  An,  17. 
Old  English  Carol,  An,  17. 
Old  Gaelic  Cradle-Song,  An,  15. 
Old  Ironsides,  149. 
Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat,  The,  166. 


Passage  of  the  Apennines,  150l 

Paul  Revere's  Ride,  182. 

Pebbles,  138. 

Piccola,  170. 

Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  The,  220. 

Pippa's  Song,  9. 

Planting  of  the  Apple-Tree,  196. 

Praying  and  Loving,  3. 

Rain  in  Summer,  106. 

Rainbow,  The,  141. 

Reverie    of    Poor    Susan,    The, 

158. 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  193. 
Robin  Redbreast,  110. 
Runaway  Brook,  The,  25. 

Saint  Luke,  Verses  from,  80. 

Sandpiper,  The,  94. 

Sea  Princess,  The,  36. 

Sea-Song,  A,  151. 

September,  41. 

Seven  times  One,  78. 

Sewing,  35. 

Shepherd,  The,  31. 

Sing-Song,  33. 

Snow-Bird,  The,  6. 

Snowdrop,  The,  65. 

Snowflakes,  43. 

Song  of   Solomon,  Verses  from 

the,  8. 
Song  of  the  Fairy,  49. 
Song  of  the  Fairies,  76. 
Spring,  48. 

Spring  has  come,  128. 
Star-Spangled  Banner,  The,  143. 
Successien  of    the   Four    Sweet 

Months,  The,  84. 
Summer,  30. 
Summer  Woods,  175. 
Sun's  Travels,  The,  30. 
Sweet  and  Low,  24. 

Thank  you,  Pretty  Cow.  11. 
Thanksgiving-Day,  58. 
Things  to  Remember,  33. 
To  a  Child,  65. 
To  Mother  Fairie,  14. 
To  Violets,  83. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


247 


To-day,  81. 

Tree,  The,  52. 

True  Love  Requited,  203. 

Twenty-third  Psalm,  The,  116. 

Up  in  the  Morning  Early,  28. 

Village  Blacksmith,  The,  112. 

Violets,  83. 

Visit  from  St.  Nicholas,  A,  167. 

Weather,  The,  32. 
What  Every  One  Knows,  32. 
While   Shepherds  watched  their 
Flocks  by  Night,  96. 


"While     Stars     of     Christmas 

Shine,"  18. 
Wild  Geese,  103. 
Wind,  The  (Rossetti),  2. 
Wind,  The  (Stevenson),  7. 
Winter  (Savage),  22. 
Winter  (Tennyson),  45. 
Winter  and  Spring,  159. 
Winter  Rain,  100. 
Winter  Robin,  The,  58. 
Winter-Time,  6. 
Wishing,  79. 
Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod,  164. 

Young  Lochinvar,  205. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

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